


Persistent World

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gaming, M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Air Force Cadet Marco prepares for his upcoming wedding to Jean, while gamer Jean just tries to get his life right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Some characters are Korean here just because there's such a pro-gaming presence in Korea it felt real weird to have a group of Europeans.

"We got the cadet chapel."

" _What?_ "

Jean sits straight up, holding the phone with both hands. 

"Just got confirmation," Marco says. Jean can hear the smile in his voice. "Colonel Erwin himself."

"I assumed we weren't gonna get it," Jean says. This changes... literally everything. Jean eyes his laptop, on the other side of the desk and filled with _Wedding Expenses_ spreadsheets that he can now delete, and replace with brand new ones from scratch. "Is there a date?"

"I got the earliest," Marco says, nervousness tainting the excitement now. "December, December 3rd or 9th… Is that alright? We can change it, but it'd be a pretty long wait."

Jean frowns. "How long?"

"June."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. But it really shouldn't be that bad, last Christmas you could practically sunbathe out there, except for the cold," Marco says. 

"True," Jean says, and decides to let Marco assume that – it's less embarrassing for Jean to have been hesitant because of the very practical concern about the weather. The cadet chapel is located in the Rockies, and in the dead of winter a storm is a very real possibility. But still. "We're gonna save so much money, fuck."

" _And_ ," Marco says, clearly smiling again. "Sabers."

"Right," Jean says, smirking, too. "Okay, yeah, December. Cadet chapel."

"It's a date?" Marco says, all bright sunshine happiness. 

"Jesus. Yes, you fucking dork."

The biggest deciding factor for Jean is, truthfully, he doesn't much care about a wedding. 

But he cares about Marco, and Marco cares about a wedding, so Jean is kind of obligated to care about _their_ wedding, which is turning out to be a challenge. 

It's good, though – if Jean thinks about it like that: like an obstacle course, or a bug-ridden beta release of a new game, something inherently unpleasant, a test or a trial where people are actively attempting to sabotage them, then it's not too bad. 

The _simplest_ solution would be to head down to the courthouse, throw a party afterward, then put everything else toward a tropical vacation – er, honeymoon – but that wouldn't be much of a challenge, would it? No, they have to navigate catering and travel and venues and decorations and accessories and on, and on, and on.

But the Air Force Academy has a breathtaking chapel with easy, cheap access to catering, decorations, accessories, and on, and on, and it's available for weddings of any active duty officer. 

Marco will graduate from the academy as a Second Lieutenant in November, which meant it was hypothetically available to him. 

Before banking on it, though, they'd thought it was a good idea to clarify that there would be two grooms at this service.

Jean had fully expected the request to be quietly denied, and had started planning with that as the case. They'd both agreed not to fight this particular battle, just move to a smaller, more expensive venue and on with their lives. But apparently Jean and Marco are going to make history, the first same sex wedding in the chapel. 

It was Marco's first choice, so Jean's happy about that, and certainly happy about deleting that awful catering and flowers and decorations spreadsheet – with totals around _6,300_ and _5,500_ dancing at the bottom. 

He's not too happy about starting over completely. Or the date. And of course Marco wants to check out the venue as soon as possible, and Jean can't bring himself to protest, regardless of what plans he already had for today. 

His mood is not helped when he drives onto the base, passing by the check point. 

"Identification?"

Jean passes his driver's license to the guard with a flat expression. He knows this dude. Jean's been going out with Marco for the past three years and a regular visitor on the base for parties and ceremonies and football games and boring weekends. This guard has been a jerk about it consistently. 

"Purpose of the visit?"

 _To molest one of your cadets_ , he wants to say. "Visiting the chapel."

"Alright, Kar-steen," the guard says, passing back his ID. Jean glares, but doesn't correct him. "Think I'm gonna have you head up to the visitor center to validate your clearance."

"Are you kidding me?" Jean says before he can stop himself. He quickly puts both hands up in apology before the guy starts getting really nasty. "Right, okay, fine, I'm going." He drives forward and makes an unnecessarily sharp turn left to the visitor center. "Asshole." 

He parks and pulls out his cellphone. 

"Jean?" Marco answers. "I'm at the chapel, where are you?"

"Guess."

Marco groans. "I'll be right there."

Jean crosses his arms and waits, staring into the massive pine trees that surround the visitor center, blocking the academy from view. The trees run almost wild through the entire academy, along with surprisingly bold wildlife. At first Jean found the raccoons and deer and shit pretty cool, but now it gives the unsettling feeling of being watched at all times, especially after hours, when all the cadets and professors and tourists have left for the day and all that's left is the quiet and the soft stirring in the branches and grass. 

Jean's dicking around on his phone by the time Marco comes jogging up, polished shoes clicking smartly against the marble walkways. 

"Jean!" he calls out, waving as though there were any way Jean could possibly miss him, the only other person in the parking lot. Jean pushes himself off the car to meet him, and it's been a few days since they've seen each other face to face, so he should've expected the enthusiastic embrace. He was still feeling a little prickly, but Marco's hugs remind Jean of a dog greeting you at the end of the day – like smacking face first into a wall of sheer affection and excitement. It's near impossible to stay annoyed with Marco Bodt's arms around your waist. Like, Jean's managed it, but it takes a lot of concentration. 

"Sorry about this," Marco says. "It won't happen once you get your military ID." Once they're married. 

"And first thing I'll do is shove it in that asshole's face," Jean says, glaring over his shoulder as Marco practically tugs Jean along, escorting him through the academy. 

The chapel is stunning. 

It's not the first time Jean's seen it, but it's the first time he's considered it seriously as a _venue_ , and after all their hunting, it's in a class of it's own. The massive marble courtyard, a tower of slick, gleaming glass and steel, refined, and elegant and modern and traditional at once. It fits Marco, actually, better than the old frumpy church houses Marco kept drifting toward for some reason. 

"I _told_ you," Marco says, catching Jean's expression.

"I knew it was nice," Jean says, defensive but there's no reason to be. Marco's just happy, just excited. He leads Jean up the stairs, opens the doors, and they stare into the huge, open space. The high ceilings, the stain glass windows, the natural light, the polished, gleaming surfaces. It's like a modern fairy tale, honestly. It's exactly what Marco wants, so – it's what Jean wants, too, then. 

"What about the walk?" Jean says. 

They were going to do a joint walk, escorting their mothers to their seats. They'd already talked about the arrangement of the chairs, but these pews are bolted firmly to the floor. There's no way they're going to be able to do two walks at once down this narrow aisle. 

"Hm," Marco says, eyeing the space. "Can we walk along the outside of the pews, maybe?"

"There's no space," Jean says.

"We don't have to go at once," Marco says. "Or maybe we can come from the back? We'll figure it out."

Marco is a big picture thinker, idealistic and unconcerned, staring up into the ceiling. Jean's always been one to get into the details, and they keep popping up, distracting him as they slowly head down the aisle together. He doesn't realize where they're standing, at the end, until Marco's sudden intake of breath. 

They're at the altar, and Jean feels, suddenly, extremely under-dressed, in his jeans and hoodie. Marco's just off work, still in his uniform, pressed and perfect. At the ceremony he'll be in his _dress_ uniform, a dark, handsome suit so ridiculously flattering in cut on Marco that Jean knows he's going to have a hard time concentrating. 

As if reading Jean's mind, Marco suddenly loops his arm around his waist, waggles his eyebrows.

"We're gonna be married," Marco says.

"We are," Jean agrees. They touch foreheads, and Jean sighs. After a beat, he smiles. "Think we could swing a quickie?"

" _Jean?!_ " 

Jean, predicting this reaction, mimics Marco's outraged tone in exact time and cadence, and Marco scoffs, giving a reprimanding bump of his hip – but he's always in a very affectionate mood while they do anything wedding related, and today is no exception. His expression is full of warmth.

"You're a brat. Can I come over tonight?" 

"Aah…"

"Right, I forgot," Marco says, and actually looks more amused than anything else, excusing Jean. "Your game."

"… It's the tournament tonight," Jean mutters, feeling a little stupid doing so. He's glad when Marco just takes him at his word, nodding without asking for any specifics.

"Free tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Jean agrees quickly, and _mostly_ means it. 

Four months ago, the beta release of _Wall Maria: Beyond_ came out, and Jean, a long time player of the online game, was lucky enough to be sent a copy. 

Tonight is a broadcast tournament, intended to advertise the features to the general public, and a Pretty Big Deal. In preparation, Jean's been devoting most of his waking, sleeping, eating hours to the game, even moreso than usual, and it's resulted in an almost steady stream of vague excuses to anyone who has attempted to hang out with him in the past four months. 

Jean's not a private person by nature, but it's not like Marco, or his parents, or his friends would understand if he told them he can't go to a movie tonight, because he's discovered a new type of ore on the Volcanic Tundra map, and it's going to take all night to check if it's compatible with the weapons maker. It's fucking geeky as hell, and incomprehensible to anyone who doesn't play the game. No, Jean's just vaguely, eternally, busy with his game, as he has been since hitting puberty.

Tomorrow is a day off work, and Jean would like to continue to play. Even after four solid months, he's only just scratching the surface of what this release can do, and it's going wide release after tonight's tournament, he'll finally get to play with actual gamers instead of bots… 

But he doesn't want to test Marco's patience any more than he already has. His ideal would be a lazy day sitting around his apartment with Marco doing his own thing, taking a break for lunch and some grab ass, but Marco doesn't really understand gaming outside of consoles. He accepts Jean's hobby, but Jean can tell it also confuses him slightly, and Jean's too defensive to play in front of Marco, or explain it to him, or even mention it more than strictly necessary. 

Marco is an actual adult, after all.

"Have time for dinner before you go?" Marco asks, hopeful, brushing Jean's bangs away from his forehead in a thoughtless yet easily loving touch.

"Yeah," Jean says, but – well, whatever. Yeah, he has time. He wanted to do a few practice rounds before the tournament but relationships and compromise, Marco's clearly ready to celebrate, this means a lot to him, etc. 

They grab a quick meal on base, after which Marco escorts Jean back to his car, and promptly pins him up against it. 

"Can't wait for December," Marco says, gripping Jean's shirt and kissing with such desperate _want_ , Jean's almost tempted to cave, to ditch the tournament and sneak back to Marco's dorm, fucking silent and desperate… 

But he doesn't. 

"Tomorrow," Jean promises, and they kiss twice more, before Jean drives back to his apartment alone, knee bouncing in anticipation and nerves.

~

Jean's apartment is a studio, and his younger brother freaked out when he saw it, saying it looked like a spy's secret hideout. He wasn't totally wrong – where some people have couches and a television, Jean has a table spanning the entire wall, a customized tower, four monitors arranged in a slight curve, and an extremely well worn computer chair. It's really the only furniture to Jean's name, outside of his bed. It'll make moving on base all the easier, Jean supposes. He won't even need to rent a truck, everything he wants to keep will easily fit in a car. 

There are already 4,000 viewers waiting by the time he logs in, and there's still an hour to spare. It's enough time for one practice round, which he was going to do against a computer, until he sees that his longtime rival is online.

 **You** : 1v1?  
_ArlertAlert is typing..._

Jean watches the message flicker on and off as ArlertAlert types and deletes and types and deletes, either trying to make up his mind or just come up with the right phrasing. Knowing Alert, it could be either. 

Finally:

 **ArlertAlert** : Sure. I want to practice as Titan though.

Jean raises an eyebrow – Alert plays as Human, almost exclusively. 

**You** : its your funeral  
**ArlertAlert** : Ready?  
**You** : whenver you are

The map loads, his screens flaring to life in a nearly blinding, bright green. It's a Tropical Forest level.

 **You** : HA.

Titans do not do well in heat, they have almost no endurance and will often simply die from exhaustion if they wander too far from a player's homebase. They're also especially vulnerable from Human attack, if a Human player takes the time to build treehouse outposts.

Jean immediately sets 10% of his force to start building treehouse outposts. 

It's basically just to taunt Alert, though, Jean's going to need actual material to construct anything that'll withstand an attack, and that means 90% of his force has to start mining for rocks, and power supplies, creating refineries, etc.

This set up is the slowest part of the game, laying down the ground work, and most gamers give up here. But Jean knows these first five minutes are where it's all won or lost, and his little taunt at Alert could've actually cost him the win – Alert's not devoting 10% of his resources to a joke.

There was no need to worry, there's not nearly enough food or water in Alert's desolate little patch of map for them to build a solid homebase. He concedes defeat ten minutes into the game.

 **You** : have fun?  
**ArlertAlert** : Hm.  
**ArlertAlert** : After the new release I thought I had been underestimating Titans, but they really were a dud race, weren't they?  
**You** : Basically

Jean's met a few players who excel using Titans, but he's written it off as hacks and mods. They're a joke to most players, slow and useless and – 

Wait.

 **You** : "were"?  
**ArlertAlert** : You haven't played as Titan in the new release?  
**You** : no?? titans are a dud race  
**ArlertAlert** : I hope you're joking  
**You** : there were 50 new maps and 200 new magic elements  
**ArlertAlert** : You had four months!  
**You** : 50 maps!!  
**ArlertAlert** : You didnd't read the patch notes?!  
**ArlertAlert** : Didn't*  
**You** : yeah, there's new titan builds  
**ArlertAlert** Oh my God.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, Jean looks at the clock, less than twenty minutes until the tournament starts, but he could have hours and he still wouldn't have enough time to properly play as a race he hasn't attempted since he was fifteen. 

**ArlertAlert** : Have you checked the feed?  
**You** : eat a cock  
**ArlertAlert** : They announced the line up

Jean checks the feed; his first opponent is a strictly Human player, daBeef. Jean relaxes slightly, and almost hopes daBeef takes him out before someone playing as Titan makes it blatantly obvious that Jean didn't fully read the patch notes. His face burns in preemptive humiliation, but – honestly, Alert is probably overreacting. Alert is a fretter. The changes can't be _that_ huge. Jean would've heard about it. 

_Would_ he, though?? The reason he didn't read the notes as thoroughly as he would've liked is because of this wedding stuff, and wedding stuff is what kept him from hanging out as long as he would've liked on the usual message boards, talking to his his fellow gamers. 

Tonight is not a serious tournament anyway, it's literally just a showcase. 

The results don't matter. 

It's going to be fine. 

~

 **RESULTS**  
Jean Kirstein, "thepits" 

**VICTORIES**  
Sasha Braus, "daBeef"  
Connie Ha, "Spring"  
Samuel Jackson, "0ct0pushinds"

 **UPCOMING MATCH** :  
Bert Cho, "ahem-ingway"

It's two in the morning, and there's four hours left until the final match – they're on Seoul time, as most _Wall Maria_ tournaments tend to be. 

Jean's half way through his third energy drink, and starting to get a little cocky. So far he's faced three Humans, and won. He's only played against ahem-ingway a handful of times over the past few years, but he's familiar enough with his style: conservative and timid, known for sweeping victories away from wild players and bad mistakes. Jean's decided that even if ahem-ingway does play as Titan, he probably won't have much to worry about. He's not known for bold, new moves. He'll stick to the old methods.

 **You** : gl  
**ahem-ingway** : glhf

The map loads. Woodland Forest. Jean's sticking with Humans, ahem-ingway is playing as Titans.

Jean's not going to let that get in his head, he focuses on building his own base, focusing primarily on the walls. The Titan race's greatest strength is their quite literal strength, there's no coming back from a Titan infested homebase, and Jean's sure the safest move here is a strong defense. His force becomes a tireless wall-making machine, 50% mining, 10% refining, 30% building, the rest splitting the rest of the tasks that will make the place a self-sustainable outpost.

The walls are up, and sturdy, in record time.

"What the…" Jean breathes to himself, fingers freezing over his keyboard. 

A figure unlike anything he's ever seen in the game – Titan-like, Human-like, and something altogether new – marches across the edge of his territory. It's slow, like Titans tend to be, but huge. He scrolls out, wondering if he'd somehow zoomed in on the character, but it stays proportionately large, at least as tall as Jean's walls, but… that _can't_ be possible? A 60 meter character?? 

Attack or defend. Attack or defend. It's coming toward Jean's still developing homebase, but Jean hesitates, looking again at the stats of his defense. He _should be_ safe. 

The colossal titan has reached Jean's wall. Jean's unable to make sense of the sight for a moment, a series of graphics he's never seen before: an explosion? No, it's – 

_Fuck_. Jean selects his entire force, setting them to _attack_ , just seconds before the fucker _kicks his wall down_.

Jean curses over and over under his breath, his fingers tapping out rapid-fire commands but there's an endless row of Titans following after the big one. He manages to hold of defeat for a respectable six minutes, but it's inevitable. 

He kicks away from his computer in impotent rage, unable to take the scene of his homebase completely run over, Titans passing through his busted wall freely, bending over to grab his Humans as they like, devouring them.

Fuck.

Actually sneering, Jean rolls his chair back toward his keyboard.

 **You** : gg

 **LOSSES**  
Bert Cho, "ahem-ingway"

Jean logs off. 

His chat window with Alert is flashing, 39 new messages waiting. He glares at that, too, and for a moment considers not bothering until the morning, but can't help it. His suspicions are confirmed, the first ten messages are about Alert's own loss, two rounds ago. The rest is a liveblog of Jean's. 

**ArlertAlert** : Oh, no.  
**ArlertAlert** : Titans can go through a wall defense. You need to attack  
**ArlertAlert** : This is really bad, Pit.  
**ArlertAlert** : Oh, no.  
**ArlertAlert** : Oh no.  
**ArlertAlert** : They're going to know you didn't read the patch release notes.  
**ArlertAlert** : This isn't going to go over well, Pit.  
**ArlertAlert** : Oh, dear.  
**You** : what the fuck was that  
**ArlertAlert** : Three new subtypes were added to Titan, Colossal, Armor and Female.  
**You** : fuck.

There's a long beat of silence where Jean just stares at the chatlog. This is going to be bad, Alert was not lying. To mess up because you made a bad decision or were outmaneuvered is one thing, but reading the patch notes is just common decency. It's seen as rude and unprofessional for any ranking player to skim them. Anyone who sees footage of that match will know exactly what happened, and ahem-ingway is a Korean player, which is a vast majority of Wall Maria's audience. 

**ArlertAlert** : I'm surprised you weren't on earlier.  
**ArlertAlert** : I thought you'd want to practice as much as possible today.  
**ArlertAlert** : Maybe I could've given you an earlier warning.

Jean frowns. He's thankful for the change of subject, but doesn't know what to say. Alert knows Jean has a boyfriend, and that they're engaged, but for some reason it feels odd typing out _boyfriend_ and even weirder typing out _fiance_ , or _chapel_ or _wedding_. It hits him for the first time that one day he'll be typing out _husband._

 **You** : doing irl stuff

He shuts down his computer and collapses into bed. 

~

He wakes abruptly, in a panic, sitting up in bed, sure he's forgot something, or something is wrong or – or … After a moment of staring wildly around his small apartment, he realizes it's the sound of the rain that alarmed him, tapping hard and fast against his windows. It sounds like someone working furiously on a typewriter. 

He lies back down slowly, feeling oddly winded. 

He picks up his phone on instinct, stomach dropping out when he sees the messages waiting for him on the lock screen– the game was a livefeed. He's been getting messages from viewers since it aired, hours ago, and more are coming in even as he stares.

_wtf_  
_Was that a JOKE_  
_i know everyone is mad at ThePits but I thought it was real nice of him to let his little sister play for him I don't know it's just sweet_  
_lmao, just lmao_  
_you've embarrassed your family_

It takes actual effort to turn off the notifications, the constant new messages popping up and blocking the options. 

305 new messages. 

He groans, unaware of how sad he actually is until he hears the broken little noise. 

He doesn't like this. He doesn't like existing in this early morning, still dark outside, raining and miserable. 

He wishes Marco was there, it comes over him in a nearly palpable wave. Marco's sleeping in his dorm, at the academy. Jean stares at the empty spot beside him on the bed where Marco's slept, the few times he's been able to stay over. He grabs the pillow and hugs it to his chest.

Checking his texts, he moans softly in surprise when he sees two messages from Marco.

 **Marco**  
Did you make it home safe?  
**Marco**  
Good luck on your game!!

He swallows, eyes nearly stinging. He turns his phone over, and rolls into the pillow.

Jean is taking Marco's last name. Jean Bodt. It doesn't sound the same as Marco Bodt, doesn't have the same, two syllable build up. Mar- _co_ Bodt, _JeanBodt_. Short and clipped. It reminds Jean, somehow, of rain, Jean Bodt, Jean Bodt, Jean Bodt. Drip drop. 

Jean is a realist, before anything else, and realistically, this is the easiest thing. As a dependent of Marco; traveling with Marco, living on government funded housing with Marco, using Marco's access to free healthcare, using Marco's name to move around the base, to shop, to use the gym, to get through security, to pass gates, guarded by armed soldiers and protected with barbed wire, it will really just make things simpler. Who does he belong to? Marco Bodt. Jean Bodt. That's why he is relevant, why he's allowed. Bodt. Bodt. 

He hears it against the window, repetitive and unstoppable. 


	2. Chapter Two

_"Blackjacks! Five minutes until first call for breakfast formation!"_

It's Mylius Zeramuski, barking it out as he walks down the hall, knocking on each door he passes. "Uniform is class C! Menu includes: waffles, sausage, sliced fruit, orange juice! Five minutes until first call! Secure your lights and rooms! Blackjacks, double down!" 

As the steady, rhythmic march of freshmen heading down to breakfast grows distant, Marco rolls over. 

It's the weekend, so Marco has … he checks the clock. Another hour before his dorm room is expected to be presentable. Weekends are generally up to a cadet's preference – unless you're in your first year at the academy, then literally nothing is up to your preference – and at the moment, nothing seems quite as appealing as sleeping in. 

Until he remembers Jean. 

Mmm. Jean, swimming in a hoodie – Jean with his hands jammed down into his pockets, rolling his foot to the side awkwardly, sneaking a glance up at Marco through his bangs. Marco smiles, pressing against the mattress beneath him. It's just a few lazy shifts of his hips, trying to decide if he should masturbate properly or not. He's only got a few moments of privacy in his dorm, but Jean's got an apartment, with a door he can lock, and a bed… 

Marco grabs for his phone. He sent Jean texts last night – which were delivered around four in the morning, Christ – but no response. 

Will Jean be awake enough for guests if he was on his phone only a few hours ago? Probably not, but a still sleeping Jean might be better, maybe Marco could just climb into bed, under the blankets behind him…

The idea is tempting enough to lure him out of bed. 

His intention is to just get dressed, the workout that follows is honestly just thoughtless habit, immediately dropping to the floor for a quick burst of push ups, crunches, jumping jacks, pull ups, then he jogs to the showers, gets dressed in his civilian clothes. He's certainly too awake now for a nap – maybe they can see a movie? Jean is awful at the movies, consistently leaning over to whisper rude, snide little comments about the characters or the plot or the special effects, and Marco's so stupid in love even _that_ makes him smile and pick up his pace to his car. 

"Flight Commander Bodt!"

Marco stops. "… Cadet Carolina?"

"Good morning, sir!" She salutes sharply. "Do you have time? To talk?"

"Right now?" Marco asks as he inches backward, toward the doors – _it's so close_. 

"I have tasks all Sunday, sir, and a whole weekend of homework to catch up on, if – if you're free now… ?" She's doing her best to keep composed, but her lips are a pale, worried line. Mina Carolina is a third year, but not in Blackjack Squadron with Marco, and not one of the fifteen cadets Marco has under his direct command. Mina reports to the Pink Panther squad, which would put her under... Annie?

"Is Leonhart unavailable?"

"She, ah … " Mina trails off, wincing. "It's just, you're always so helpful with the underclassmen, sir, I thought you might have time…"

Marco sighs internally, giving the mental image of Jean, soft and warm and waiting in bed, a mournful farewell, and leads Carolina into a conference room, usually reserved for the officers and their business, but obviously empty on a Saturday. 

"I had my first Duty Assessment yesterday," Carolina says. 

Marco winces in sympathy. DAs are end of year evaluations of a cadet's abilities as a future officer. Six brutal tests, followed by panel interviews, taking in a cadet's entire career at the academy. Most of Marco's third year was spent preparing for his DAs, and he's spent hours prepping his own cadets, recommending seminars and essays, and writing personal recommendations for their interviews. 

Failing a DA is an automatic dismissal from the academy. 

"I didn't pass."

"Oh," Marco says, not a little stunned. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"They said I was too passive in the drills," Carolina says. "I realized, I've never had a lead role in any mock rescues or jumps, or anything on the field."

"Drills aren't the only kind of leadership. Don't you have any volunteering experience? Tutoring? Any sports?"

"Not especially," Carolina says, looking queasy. "I'm on the astronautical track, I was putting everything into my grades…" 

Marco huffs, hands on his hips. This will not be an easy fix. "When's your next attempt?"

"Next month, but Pink Panthers only have two drills scheduled between now and then. I don't know much experience I can gain from that."

"I'll talk to Leonhart," Marco says. "Some commanders in the other squads, too, see if we can get you a temporary position on some of their fields."

"Thank you, sir," Carolina says in a breathless exhale of relief. 

Marco nods, gives her a squeeze on the shoulder and a few additional recommendations – it's doubtful she'll have time to volunteer or research more on top of her regular workload, but it can't hurt to try. Once escaping, he's jogging to the doors, hopefully before he can get stopped again. 

Carolina will be fine, probably. At least Marco hopes so. Each cadet is responsible for themselves ultimately, but a guiding hand would've helped, and it doesn't look like Carolina had anyone doing that for her. Marco tries not to make any judgments about Annie's mentoring abilities but, frankly, this does not surprise him. Annie's always struggled with the social element of their school, both leading and following or just – talking, hanging out, bonding. Marco's pretty sure the only reason she hasn't been dropped is because of her frankly unnatural talent and grades. But having Carolina drop out will definitely hurt Annie's record overall, so it shouldn't take much convincing to get her help.

But all that can wait, all of that is a Monday concern. Today is Saturday, and all he has to worry about is – 

Marco freezes, saluting. 

"Good morning, Major Ral!" 

"Cadet Bodt," Ral nods. Marco holds the salute, waiting for Major Petra Ral to pass by. Instead, she stops. She's in full uniform, despite the weekend. "Heading into the city?"

"Yes, ma'am," Marco says.

"I heard about your wedding," she says, smiling. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Well, I have updated orders for you. The official okay on your use of the chapel is pending on approval from the deacon. You'll need to schedule a meeting with them before the end of next week," she says. 

"Yes, ma'am," Marco says. "I thought .. we were supposed to schedule that later? Closer to the date?"

"Usually," Ral says. "But given the circumstances of your ceremony, the academy wants to get all the requisites satisfied ASAP."

"Yes, ma'am. Uh – thank you," he says, privately boggling. Marco would never, ever expect anyone of Ral's rank to show any interest in Marco's activities outside of his performance as a cadet, let alone keep tabs on the _requisites_ of his wedding. But her orders were clear. He makes a meeting at the earliest time, next Wednesday at fifteen-thirty, then, still slightly confused, starts his drive out to the city. 

~

Impossibly, Jean is still in bed. 

Marco can tell as soon as he unlocks the door to Jean's apartment, there's a quiet, undisturbed stillness in the air, and Marco moves slow and quiet, shutting the door behind him and walking through the small kitchen, turning to see the bed nook with Jean – oh. _Not_ still asleep.

"You're jerking off?" Marco says, with false offense. "And here I waited for you like a chump."

"You did?" Jean says, poking his head up from the sheets, only his eyes visible. He sounds happily surprised, as though Marco brought a gift.

"…Yeah, sort of."

"Lemme see," Jean says. His voice is husky, thick with want and sleep, and Marco finds himself immediately interested, stepping within arm's reach of the bed, toeing off his shoes. 

"Think that's hot?" Marco says, teasing.

"Nng," Jean gets out, freeing one arm, and groping at the shape of Marco's dick through his pants. Maybe still a little asleep. His hair is a mess and only one groggy eye is open."Yeah."

"Like that it's for you?" Marco asks, finding the appeal in the idea. He wants to get into bed with Jean, but also likes this, watching as Jean, tired, biting his lip, keeps jerking himself under the blankets, fumbling somewhat awkwardly with Marco, scratching lightly against the fabric. 

"Yeah," Jean repeats, breathless. "Take off your shirt."

Amused, Marco grabs the edge of his t-shirt, yanking it over his head. Jean bites his lip, narrowing his eyes at the sight. 

"God," Jean moves his hand up Marco's hip, sliding up the well defined shape of Marco's abs, especially firm after the recent workout. "God damn. Fuck you, Marco."

His hand moves faster, more desperate under the blanket, shifting, bending one leg to brace as he rocks his hips up. The movements are thoughtless, obviously well practiced, and Marco realizes this is exactly what Jean looks like when he does this on his own. That he's done this, exactly this, countless times, uninhibited and unashamed, head tipped back, biting hard on his lip. "Fuck – ah. _Ah._ "

He huffs. His hips snap – twice – a third time – then he's dropping limp against the mattress, spent.

One arm drapes over his eyes.

"Are you really here, or was that just a stupid vivid fantasy?"

Marco can't respond, face heated and impossibly erect from Jean's performance. He climbs up onto the bed and, gently, tugs the blankets down. Jean allows it, sighing and wiggling a bit as Marco takes in his narrow chest – Jean slept without a shirt, as per usual. Without lifting the arm from over his eyes, Jean adjusts to Marco's position, spreading his legs to allow him closer. Marco smiles, and Jean's lower stomach tenses, quivering instinctively at Marco's gentle touch. Jean is not in the military, Jean does not have monthly physical requirements. Jean sleeps in until he decides not to, and eats like a bird. He is mostly soft, just a tantalizing hint of definition, giving his abs and hips and chest a tight, youthful shape. Marco loves Jean's body, his long, skinny legs and hips and waist that slides in, a perfect resting place for his hands.

Marco grasps himself impatiently, using an especially brutal pace, and visualizes it just before it happens: coming against Jean, spraying in ribbons against Jean's own spent cock and still quivering stomach, and then it's happening, Marco's breath catches and he's coming, making an obscene mess of his fiance. 

" _Marco_ ," Jean sighs, and the softly impressed edge makes Marco's cock twitch in his still moving fist. 

"Fuck. Missed you," Marco says, panting through his orgasm.

"God." Jean is pressing his lips together to hold in the smile. "Get some pride, Bodt. You're so damn desperate." 

"Okay," Marco agrees, because it was an orgasm that left him craving _touch_ down to his bones, closeness and cuddles, and that makes the body language between them far more interesting than anything coming out of Jean's mouth: Jean's hands, petting and loving along Marco's sides, moving to the back of his head, encouraging him down, resting against Jean's chest, unconcerned with the mess between them. 

It's a long, peaceful beat of silence.

"I'm not getting out of bed for another hour."

"Okay," Marco agrees again. They have the whole day, and spending some if it laying down, listening to the soothing beat of Jean's heart seems like a good enough Saturday. "Think you can get next Wednesday off?"

"Maybe. I could probably call in. Why?"

Jean groans, heavily, when Marco tells him the news about the deacon. Head still resting against Jean's chest, Marco tries not to frown. He knows Jean's not nearly as into the whole wedding thing, and as reasonable as he'd like to be about it – Jean loves him, obviously, that's not in question – it is a little disheartening to have such obvious evidence of his disinterest.

"It'll be easy, just a few questions. An hour at most," Marco says.

"You know this guy? The deacon?"

"Not really, I've never gone to any services."

"When my cousins got married they had a total ass for a counselor," Jean says, suddenly very passionate, enough to make Marco bob up and down slightly as he speaks. "He asked all these – personal questions."

"That's sort of the whole idea?"

"He made the bride get her dress altered because he thought it was too revealing – and he asked what my cousin would do if his wife got knocked up by his best friend? Or if she cheated on him with his boss? All this weird stuff."

Marco lifts his head in shock. "What'd your cousin say??"

"Uh. He was kind of annoyed with the whole thing at that point, so he just said 'enjoy the show.'"

"God," Marco laughs in surprise. "I don't think it'll be that bad."

"What if it is?" Jean says.

"I'm pretty sure your full tuxedo is demure enough for the house of god," Marco says. "And I don't know, what _would_ you do if you found me having sex with your boss?"

He rests his chin on his hands, smiling up at Jean, raising an eyebrow. 

Jean grimaces. "You can do way better than Mr. Weilman. If you cheat, it better at least be with someone better looking than me."

"Hm. I think I'd want it the other way around."

"Well that'd be easy for me," Jean says, rolling his eyes. "Since most of planet earth isn't as good looking as you."

"Jean," Marco scoffs, and leans up to kiss at his mouth. He's just as lovesick as Marco, honestly, he needs to remember this. "Hey. Want to see a movie?"

"I still have forty minutes before I even think about moving."

Hm. Well, that idea has less appeal now that Marco's fully recovered. He spends another few minutes curled up with Jean, then rolls off the bed, cleans himself up and hunts in Jean's kitchen for something he can assemble into an edible breakfast. As expected, there's not much, but there is bread, milk and eggs, and cinnamon, actually left over from the last time Marco cooked something for Jean.

"I'm making French Toast."

The grunting noise from the bed sounds vaguely positive, so he keeps going, cracking a few eggs into a bowl of milk and cinnamon.

It's strange. He has a few worries about his upcoming wedding to Jean, but this meeting with the deacon hadn't been one of them – he'd been thinking of it as just another box to be ticked off on the list of Wedding Tasks. The idea of having to actually prove his feelings for Jean, and being found _wanting_ , isn't something he even considered. 

At worst, though, they can find another venue.

But Marco hesitates, the fork in his hand stilling in the bowl, as he remembers what Ral said, specifically. That the academy wants to sign off on this as quickly as possible. That they are, for some reason, invested in the ceremony. 

Could this impact his career?

Marco frowns, whisking faster now. Of course an officer's spouse will impact their career. It wouldn't matter where they got married, or any hiccups at the wedding. There's a lot of formal gatherings, a lot of ceremonies, and Marco's plus one will always reflect on him, for better or worse. 

There's implications down that line of thought that Marco's never considered. Despite knowing better, he's been thinking of a wedding as a destination, but has now reached a crest, and has a new, decent view of the actual path ahead of him, the huge, winding length of it. It's a daunting thing.

"Hey," Jean gives him a playful pinch of his ass as he passes, and Marco's jarred enough that he actually yelps, almost dropping the bowl. "Sorry," Jean snickers, clearly not remotely sorry. "I'm gonna take a shower, since you broke into my apartment and nutted on me like a fucking animal."

"Wow. I haven't heard _nutted_ since eighth grade." 

Jean doesn't respond, already closing the bathroom door. Marco considers the space where Jean was standing a moment longer, then pulls out the bread, and butters the skillet.

Despite originally pursing an education in systems and applied sciences, Marco does not want to be an engineer. He's found himself as a pilot, and performed in the top five percentile in aviation. He wants to fly, but the competition to actually _be in the air_ is brutal. It comes down to more than just a perfect performance and perfect scores, because there are hundreds of cadets with perfect performances and scores. Everything about Marco will be taken into consideration when that decision is made.

He's so in his own head, he doesn't notice Jean's finished his shower until he's directly beside him.

"You alright?"

"Huh?" 

Jean's frowning at him, rubbing the towel through his hair with both hands. "You look pissed off."

"No, I was just thinking…"

Jean waits, eyebrow raised. Marco opens his mouth to try to phrase it, then, at the last moment, finds himself saying instead, "There's this underclassman struggling with her DAs, she's – "

"Augh, _no_ , not the DAs again," Jean says, throwing the towel in the general direction of the bathroom. "If it's not your test, then I don't care." 

"Alright," Marco laughs at Jean's honest frustration – he'd been suffering alongside Marco all last year as he prepared, almost every conversation had been hijacked by Marco's upcoming exams. Poor Jean. "Oh! Your game, last night – how'd it go?"

He can't see Jean's face, he's bent over, yanking on a pair of fresh jeans, but he sees the tension in Jean's shoulders. "Fine," Jean finally says. 

"… You win?" Marco tries. 

"Some," Jean says. "Didn't make it to the final round."

"Ah," Marco says. But isn't entirely sure what to say, Jean isn't a gracious loser, but he's usually not this tense about it. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Jean says. "The French toast done?"

They eat in silence, and when they finish, it's Jean who brings up the movie again, which is a surprise. Marco had assumed he'd want to spend more time with his game, but quickly agrees to the movie before Jean can change his mind.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, I wrote the bit with pokemon BEFORE Pokemon Go became a thing - if I rewrote this today I'd probably have them playing pokemon go, and I would not have marco be surprised that kids are still playing pokemon lol. I don't think he'd be unaware of that after the pokemon go craze.

" _Mom is gonna_ kill _me when she sees these grades!_ "

"Said the full grown man in his late twenties," Jean mutters. 

He glances at Marco out the corner of his eye – Marco's gaze stays on the poorly cast actor on the movie screen, but he shakes his head slightly, covering his mouth with his hand. _Allegedly_ , Marco finds talking during movies rude, and Jean might stop doing it once it stops making Marco smile.

Besides, the theater is empty except the two of them. Jean has one foot propped up on the seat ahead of him, slouched low in the chair and against Marco. Marco is warm, it's dark, and the movie isn't the type with explosions. He's comfortable enough to fall asleep like this, especially after the late night, and has managed a light doze when his phone jitters against his thigh.

"Hey," Marco says, sounding legitimately scandalized when he pulls it out to check the message.

"What? We're alone," Jean says.

"That shouldn't even be on," Marco says.

"It's my mom," Jean says, holding it up for Marco to see the message: _Call me!_

"Oh," Marco says, immediately standing down. Obviously, contact from mothers supersedes theater etiquette. "Think it's important?"

"Probably not," Jean says.

His phone buzzes again – _Quickly!_

Jean sighs, reaches across Marco for his coke, taking a long, obnoxious sip, grabbing a handful of popcorn, shoving it all in his mouth. "Be right back," he says through the mess and walks out to the lobby. 

He does a quick check of his notifications before calling his mother, and immediately notices the link being shared all over his feed.

_NEW! WM:B MVP interview! NEW!_

An interview? But… why? Last night was basically just an expo, why pick an MVP? Why _interview_ them? It makes sense when the page loads, though. Heavy advertising for the upcoming Wall Maria tournament in December is everywhere, both on the webpage itself and in banners hanging on set in the video. They're using the showcase to hype up the tournament. With this kind of push, they're going to be talking about last night for months.

Annoyance makes his expression hard, and he taps play on the video a little rougher than needed. 

Despite being taken out in the second round, Korean player Ha Connie, known by Jean as Spring, stands next to the announcer as the MVP. He must have done something pretty spectacular, then. As always, Spring looks way more at home with the cameras than the average Wall Maria player, holding the mic with one easy hand and smiling, rather than choking it with both hands and visibly sweating. 

And unlike Alert's perfected and polished english, Spring was a notoriously terrible student, and speaks only the most basic english phrases. Jean understands Korean moderately well, and he can follow the announcer's request for Spring to introduce himself, but Spring's response is so rapid, excited, and full of slang, Jean can only make sense of about a fifth of what's happening. He'll have to wait for the translations, and is about to shut it off and call his mom, when a familiar song starts playing. 

" _You better run, run, run, run…_ "

Jean grips his phone tighter. 

_Surely_ they'd at least cover Spring's game first. 

_Surely_ a fuck up doesn't have top billing over their interviewee. But no, on the screen behind Spring, that god awful picture of Jean from his first tournament in junior year of high school, pimply and constipated, pops up. He can recognize his own name and handle in Hangul underneath that, then it cuts to the stream of Jean and ahem-ingways's game from last night, Jean's unofficial "theme song" still playing. 

Spring chatters on, gesturing at the screen, pointing at Jean's troops building his wall and shaking his head. He says something about a _defense_ , _Titan_ and _surprise!_ , he groans a lot, and laughs a lot, but otherwise Jean is lost.

"What do you think of Pit's chance to qualify for the upcoming tournament?" asks the announcer.

"Not good!" Spring laughs, shaking his head. "Not so good!" He goes on a bit, but Jean locks his phone on Spring's smiling face, abruptly stopping the video. 

He stares at the black screen. 

Spring – Connie - they've only met face to face once, and there's always been the language barrier, but Jean has considered Spring a friend for a while now. It's an uncharacteristically harsh comment from him in particular, and Jean doesn't know what to make of it. He exhales once, then unlocks his phone. 

"Hey momma," he says.

"Jean! You called so quickly!" she says, laughing in happy surprise. 

"That's what your text said to do," Jean says. 

"I'm at the store, I'm trying to plan for dinner, do you want to come – "

"Yes."

"Oh! Good," she says. Usually Jean is a little harder to convince, asking what she's going to make, hemming and hawing, but just now nothing seems quite as appealing as sitting in his mother's kitchen. "Will Marco be with you?"

"Yeah," Jean says, he doesn't need to ask – Marco will be thrilled about the invite. 

"Good, good," she says, sounding more excited now, probably planning an entirely new, and more impressive, meal. Jean's parents adore Marco in return, and don't bother to hide it. Jean barely holds in a sigh. "Hm," she says, suddenly serious. "Is everything alright?"

Jean stiffens, both impressed and unnerved. "Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You sound stressed, Jeanbo."

"I'm just at a movie," Jean shrugs, picking at a bit of kernel stuck between his teeth.

"Oh, don't let me keep you," she says. "I love you, see you soon! Marco, too, tell Marco hello! Lots of love!"

He mutters back a 'love you', then heads back into the theater to give Marco the good news. 

~

"We should pick up some bread," Marco says. 

"She probably already got bread."

"Some drinks? Some wine?" 

Jean shrugs, leaning against the car door, scrolling through his feed. "If you want."

Marco says something, but Jean doesn't hear it, distracted by the buzz of a text. 

**Alert** : RN News asks if you have a statement about the new WM game.  
**Me** rn news can choke on a dick  
**Alert** : I am in an interview with them right now.

Jean sits up straight, typing with both thumbs now.

 **Me** : WM:B is a challenging and exciting upgrade with a lot of new

"Jean?"

"What?" 

"I asked if your mom has a favorite kind of wine."

"Mom doesn't drink a lot, but she'll like anything from you. You could bring her a half empty box of tic tacs and she'd love it."

"Ha," Marco laughs, but it sounds flat. "Who're you texting?"

"A friend. He games, too."

"Oh."

 **Me** : features and I look forward to exploring them all. I expect this installment will bring in more players and 

"I'll just go in and out real fast if you want to stay in the car," Marco says.

Jean realizes they've parked outside of a grocery store. Marco's seat-belt is undone and his hand waits on the door handle. His voice is a little irritated, as is his face, and Jean has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Marco's had Jean's parents eating out the palm of his hand since day one. He can't seriously be getting stressed out about impressing them even further as a stupidly polite dinner guest.

"Give me a second," he says.

"No, it's fine."

"Just a second," Jean says, thumbs flying, trying to polish his response. The values are a little different, but Korean media is just as vicious as American. A badly worded response can be twisted to fit whatever angle they're going for, and Jean would rather not be painted as bitter, or as pathetic, or as washed out... He'd like to take his time, but Marco is clearly annoyed and it's an unsettling thing. 

**Me** : revitalize the WM franchise. I look forward to practicing and improving.  
**Me** : But make it sound better.  
**Alert** : ::Thumbs up::

"Done?"

"Yeah."

They walk into the store a platonic distance apart, barely acknowledging one another as they travel through the crowded aisles. 

"Dad would like beer," Jean offers, as an olive branch, once they make it to the back. "Probably."

Marco hesitates, heckles still raised just a bit. For a second Jean thinks he might not go along with it, be cold and standoffish all night. Almost impartially, Jean wonders at how awkward this upcoming dinner will be, but then Marco nods and reaches his hand out for Jean's. 

"Which one?"

Jean points to his father's preferred brand, and Marco gives him a pointed, almost angry, kiss on the apple of Jean's cheek. He doesn't like fights, and he doesn't like being angry with Jean. He'll take the quickest excuse he can find to forgive Jean, and it's something Jean's taken advantage of in the past. They walk to the register with Marco's arm over Jean's shoulder, and drive to the house with Jean's hand on Marco's thigh.

~

" _Jean!!!_ " Eren, his nine year old brother, gasps. Jean's not sure what to make of this uncharacteristic excitement, until he adds, "Is Marco here?!"

"Yeah. Parking the car," Jean says toeing off his shoes. Eren tries to rush by Jean to say hello, when Jean sticks out his arm, grabs him by the sleeve and yanks him back. 

"Where did you find that shirt?" 

"Basement," Eren says, looking particularly pleased with himself, smoothing it down. The writing on it is Hungul, _Wall Maria: TEAM USA_. 

"Hi, Eren!" Marco says, walking up the porch. Jean can feel his face heating in embarrassment, thank fuck Marco doesn't know Korean. 

"Take it off."

"No. It's cool."

" _Mom!_ " Jean shouts over Eren's head, not caring that he sounds about twelve years old. 

" _Fine_ ," Eren bites out, and starts stomping toward his bedroom. 

"Was that a hand-me-down?" Marco says, obviously trying for diplomatic as Eren pauses to stick his tongue out over his shoulder. Marco is an only child and is always deeply uncomfortable when Jean and Eren fight. 

"Something like that," Jean mutters, and takes the beer from Marco as he takes off his own shoes. The door from the garage opens. 

"Heya! Marco!" Jean's dad, all smiles, says, wiping grease from his fingers onto a rag, then throwing it over his shoulder. 

"Mister Kirstein," Marco says, very serious. They shake hands. 

Marco is Passing. 

Jean is too, honestly, he's not flamboyant. But the first thing his aunt said when she found out Jean's sexuality was, " _well, there was always something off about that boy, wasn't there?_ " Jean's just always been a little off, a little uncomfortable, just slightly abnormal.

There's not _something_ about Marco.

Marco is whole and solid, he doesn't slouch in on himself, and he looks people in the eye when he shakes their hand, firm and respectful. Marco knows how to play the game, he knows sports and cars, he says his _sirs_ and _ma'ams_ , and Jean's father just loves him and his _nice, firm handshake_. 

Jean heads into the kitchen. 

"I heard you picked the big day! A December wedding in the mountains! Very dramatic," his mother says, smiling over her shoulder as she finishes plating some sliced, buttered bread. Everything else is ready, set out on the counters in bowls and platters. "Excited?"

Jean shrugs, leaning against the counter. "It's more Marco's thing."

"Well. I'm pretty sure you'll be invited, too."

"I just want it over with," Jean says, picking through the fruit salad with the tongs. 

She tsks. "It will be, soon enough. Try to enjoy the moment."

"Sure," Jean says, flat. "Marco wanted to bring you bread, by the way."

"That's so thoughtful," she says, hand to her chest, obviously beside herself and would've likely thrown her own bread out the window if Marco had done so. 

"I told him you probably already had it," Jean says. "So he said he wanted to get you wine."

Her hand moves to her mouth.

"But I talked him out of that, too, and he got dad beer instead."

"Jean!" she slaps his shoulder lightly and he laughs, pushing himself off the counter, and helps her set the table. 

Dinner is as delicious as it always is, Marco makes a bit of a production saying so, and of course offers to help wash the dishes afterward. 

Jean ducks out onto the backyard patio before he can get roped into any chores, and doesn't feel guilty about it when Marco comes out later with a pout.

"Dishes are what younger brothers are for," Jean says. "I already did my share. Seventeen years of it."

"Eren wasn't doing the dishes," Marco says. "I was."

"No one asked you to volunteer," Jean says, without mercy, because Marco isn't actually put out. He gets some sort of real, sincere joy out of helping out his mom and is left in a good mood from doing so, body language relaxed and happy as he sits down across from Jean.

Jean's phone goes off, and after the tense moment in the car, he's more careful about checking it than he had been in the theater, pulling it out of his pocket just slightly. It's from Alert.

"Go ahead," Marco says, somewhat fondly.

 **Alert** : The interview went very well.  
**Alert** : I made you sound better. 

And then Alert gives the link to Spring's interview, asking if he'd seen it. Jean blinks in surprise when he sees it's translated already. Sloppy, choppy translations, but generally accurate. He hits play, and it goes about how he'd suspected, until it reaches where he shut it off before.

"Not good," Spring says. "Not so good! If we are lucky, anyway! Can I hope Pit makes a mistake like that every tournament? Before he plays against me, next time! Remember, Pit took me out very quickly – very rude of him. To be serious, I would like to play Pit again, and to win, but if he takes himself out again – that is better for me."

Jean snorts out a laugh of amusement and relieved surprise. 

"Talking to your friend?"

"Yeah, uh. A different friend. I thought he was insulting me, but it turns out he wasn't."

"Ah," Marco says. 

Jean finally links to the interview on his own feed, adding _good luck on wishing me bad luck, ha connie. Congrats on MVP._

The backdoor opens, and Eren walks out, dropping down in the porch chair beside Marco, sighing as though he is a much older person. "Thanks for doing the dishes."

"Not a problem," Marco says.

" _Eren!_ " Their dad calls out, a curt warning.

"I'm staying in the yard!" 

"Grounded?" Jean asks, in a much better mood after seeing the full interview with Spring.

"Yeah. Got in a fight at school," Eren says, shrugging with forced nonchalance. 

"Why?"

"This sixth grader said – " Eren stops, mouth pinched in a line. Which is rare for him, he's not really known for his tact or reconsidering his words. It should've warned Jean, but somehow, he's still utterly unprepared for what comes out of Eren's mouth. "This sixth grader said that gay guys have sex _in the butt_."

Jean nearly chokes. 

"So I hit him," Eren says. "Cause it's not true, right? You don't do that, right??"

"Eren, what the fuck??" 

"Some gay people have sex like that," Marco says, calm as you please, though Jean sees the way he's working the his sleeve between his fingers, quick and repeated. "And some straight people do, too, it's not – "

"But that's how _dogs_ have sex," Eren says, disgusted.

"I don't think that's – "

"It's _called_ – " Eren stops here. He whispers, " _doggy style_."

"Well, there's a lot of different, uh, names, for – things, you'll have time to hear about the specifics when you're older, I think," Marco says, clearly sweating now.

"Yeah, what the hell, Eren? You're like, seven," Jean says. "You should be talking about… Pokemon or something."

"I'm _ten!_ "

"… Really?" Jean asks, trying to remember when that happened. He would've sworn nine.

" _Yeah!_ " Eren says, clearly furious."And we talk about Pokemon, too."

"Kids still play that?" Marco says, happily surprised.

"Yeah!!" Eren jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair as he runs for the back door. "I do! One sec!!" 

"He's going to get his DS," Jean smirks. "If you want to escape, now's the time."

"Nah. It'll be fun," Marco says, and by all accounts, seems to be sincere. The smile on Jean's face freezes, and cracks slightly.

He is not jealous of his ten year old brother.

It's not the same. And what the hell, it's _Pokemon_ , it's – nothing. Still, Eren ends up practically in Marco's lap as he shows him his DS, describing the game and his Pokemon, while Marco listens with avid interest, asking questions and – caring about it. He nearly misses it when Mikasa creeps silently out onto the porch. She does a good job of going unseen when she wants to, barely making a noise at dinner. 

She's holding her own DS, pink and covered in stickers.

"Oh no," Eren groans, entire body drooping, while Jean laughs, only a little spitefully. "Mikasa, _no_."

"What?" Marco says, oblivious.

"Mikasa kicks Eren's ass," Jean says, and moves his legs, inviting Mikasa up onto the bench beside him. She covers a smile, either from the compliment or swear, or both. 

"I caught an Arbok," she tells Jean.

"Nice," Jean says, looks at her DS screen, checking the stats on the character. She's sitting closer than she would if Marco wasn't there, painfully shy, even though Marco's been at their home more times than Jean can count at this point. It took almost year for her to warm up to anyone but Eren when they first arrived at their house, then years after that before she talked to anyone except Eren and their mom. 

"Think we can beat Eren and Marco?" Jean asks. 

Mikasa glances quickly up to Marco – he smiles – then quickly back down to the screen. 

Yes. _Obviously._

Mikasa uses actual strategy when building her teams, whereas Eren just takes whatever he can catch first, gets stupidly sentimental about them, and flails aimlessly through the rest of his game. If any of his Pokemon ever evolve, it's always by accident. His current line up is Bulbasaur, two Rattatas, Porygon, Clefairy, and a Tauros – all normal types without metronome or elemental attacks. 

He and Marco don't even last long enough for Mikasa to try out her new Arbok, which makes her pout, and Eren throw a bit of a tantrum.

Marco calmly reminds Eren that it's just a game.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK why the chapters for this piece keep coming out so short???

"Hey, Marky!"

The call is an unknown number, and it's been so long since Marco's heard from her, it takes him a moment to place her voice. 

"Mom?"

"Of course! How have you been, baby?"

"I – good, really good! How about you?" Marco doesn't know what to do with himself, looking over the desk in front of him like he hasn't been studying at it every night for the past academic year. Full of energy he doesn't know how to channel, he grabs a pen and starts clicking it frantically. 

"Oh, that's so good to hear!" she sounds happy, and Marco's smiling instinctively. "Gosh, you're working so hard at that academy – and I've been great. That's actually why I called."

Marco stops clicking the pen.

"… Yeah?"

"What? Don't sound so suspicious! It's nothing _bad_ ," she says. "Such a pessimist, I swear."

"Ha," Marco says, setting the pen down, a familiar, on-edge worry creeping in. "What's up?"

"Well," she says, and he can practically see her expression; playful, happy. "I met a _guy_ , and things are getting pretty serious, and I mentioned that my _baby boy_ goes to the academy and he was super impressed – just like me – and he wants to meet you!"

"You… want me to meet your boyfriend?" Marco says.

"Of course I do! The two most important men in my life!"

"That's – " Marco has never been introduced to any of his mother's boyfriends, not at as an adult. His mother's activities remain as mysterious and unpredictable as they had been when he was a child, just more distant. "That's really – cool, I'd really like to do that."

She gives a short, happy cheer. "I knew you would! You'll love him, he's smart like you, but he's a nurse. It sounds silly but he pulls it off, you'll get it when you meet him – he's so funny, too! And _nice_! Real nice, not like those other guys. Think my taste is finally growing up, ha! Took long enough, right?"

"He, uhm, sounds great."

"Okay, so I know you have that super strict schedule, right? What was that thing you wanted me to come out for? That… parent weekend thing?" 

"That was my first year, mom. I'm in my last year, so just – any weekend. You could drop by. Or just you, if you wanted, you could just – "

" _Great_ , I know it's short notice, but how about... tomorrow?"

"I'm actually – my boyfriend – fiance – " Marco is clicking the pen again, tripping over his words, wanting to say everything, all at once, everything he's wanted to share with her. "We're doing some wedding – stuff, wedding planning, I actually wanted to tell you about – " 

"How about Tuesday?" she asks.

"Sure, yeah," Marco says, frustrated with himself for being unable to get it out, for stuttering and being so breathless. 

"Great!! I'm so excited, Marky! I'll see you then!"

"I love you," Marco says, quickly, before she can hang up.

"Yes, baby," she laughs. "Love you bunches." 

And she hangs up.

~

The best and worst thing about Jean is his transparency. You never have to wonder where you stand with Jean, it's written all over his face, and his tone, and his words, and the little, disgusted, lift in the corner of his nose. 

Jean is not going to be able to pretend he likes Marco's mother. 

"Think she'll actually show up this time?" he asks. 

Last year was Marco's commitment ceremony to the academy, and – there are a _lot_ of ceremonies, but this one in particular was a huge deal. It's the culmination of three years of work, and Jean's invitation to the event had been a sort of public announcement of their engagement. Marco doesn't know how to convince Jean that it was primarily his own fault; he'd been unable to convey the importance to his mother, and he knew it, but gotten his hopes up anyway, and had been unable to stop monitoring the empty seat marked _Reserved for Ms. Bodt_ the entire night. 

"This time it's her idea," Marco says. "She wants me to meet her boyfriend." 

"What'd she say about you getting married?" Jean asks. "What'd you tell her about me?"

"… It was a short call."

"Right."

"Not everyone has a perfect mom, Jean," Marco mutters.

"But _you should_ ," Jean says, with such annoyed, thoughtless conviction it manages to smooth over Marco's defensiveness completely, just like that. "Whatever. We should switch." 

Not wanting to go into all the painful reasons that would be a bad idea, but generally appreciating the sentiment, Marco picks up his fork, and considers the six cake slices set out in front of them. He picks the goldish/brown one, and it's so moist he can hear it as he slides his fork through, scooping it up, and aims it at Jean's mouth. "Butterscotch."

"Seriously?"

" _Caramel and butterscotch_ ," Marco reads from the sticky-note stuck to the plate. Jean is still hesitant, but opens his mouth for it. 

The surprised delight is so immediate on Jean's face Marco can't help the snort. "Good?"

"Yes," Jean says, grabbing for his own fork and another bite. "Try it – we should get this one."

"It's literally the first one," Marco laughs, but is very happy to see Jean enthusiastic about an element of their wedding. The cake is surprisingly good, though, enough to make Marco moan as he tries it himself. 

"Yeah," Jean says again, watching Marco with _interest_ , playing it up a second later, winking. "That one."

Marco knocks him with his elbow. "Hey, do you want to do that cake smash thing at the wedding? Feeding each other?"

"Sure," Jean says, but his tone is ambivalent. He's distracted by the bite of the next cake. "Fuck," he moans, mouth full. "No, okay, this is the one. Lemon."

Marco laughs again and opens his mouth for Jean to it feed him, which he does, very carefully, a gentle touch. 

It's good. 

"You pick the cake," Marco says once he's properly swallowed it down, licking his lips.

Jean looks like he might protest, then seems to realize what this means to Marco. " _Fine_ ," he says, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. "Leave the hardest decision to me."

"I know," Marco says, scooping up the next bite. "Poor Jean. Chocolate."

" _Stop!!_ " The chef is literally running into the room, and Jean and Marco both freeze, the cake half way in Jean's mouth. The chef looks horrified. "We have to wait for the bride!! The wedding samples take all day to make, we won't be able to bring extra – "

"It's just the two of us," Marco says, putting a hand on the closest part of Jean, which happens to be his elbow. "My fiance and me. There's no bride."

"But… " the chef blinks, glancing down at a reservation card. "Marco and Jean?" they say, pronouncing the name like the female _Jeanette_.

"Jean," Jean corrects, wiping at the chocolate on the side of his mouth. "It's French."

"Oh," they say, stunned. Marco waits, tensing slightly and he can feel Jean beside him do the same. But the chef simply wanders off, still visibly shaken by the news.

It's a short look between them; Marco raises and eyebrow. There are other bakeries. 

Jean frowns, and takes a defiant bite of the chocolate cake. 

"If you're sure," Marco says, shaking his head. Jean is. 

He ends up picking the butterscotch.

~

"Caramel and butterscotch?" Mr. Kirstein asks, skeptical. "A whole cake?"

"Are you sure? Those are some strong flavors, Jeanbo."

"How big is it gonna be?" Eren asks. 

"Like… fifteen or sixteen tiers," Marco says.

" _Really_?" Both Mikasa and Eren stare at that, eyes wide.

"Yeah, it's basically just gonna be a Christmas tree," Jean says, utterly deadpan, poking at his dinner. "Probably need a ladder to cut it."

"We'll each have our own ladder, obviously. Safety first."

Eren's expression goes flat, unamused. "They're _joking_ ," he tells Mikasa. 

"Just the usual, a three tier cake," Marco says. 

"Will you have the – little dolls on top?" Mikasa asks, quietly. It takes Marco a second to figure out what she's asking.

"A cake topper?" Marco asks, frowning to Jean. They hadn't looked at that yet. Jean, of course, shrugs. "Maybe, if we find one we like. Let us know if you see one that's nice."

Mikasa's eyes go wide again, and then she nods, tightly, obviously taking this to heart. Well. Marco hopes she has good taste, because there's no way he's not going to put whatever she picks up there. 

The Kirstein kitchen table is expandable, and when Marco first started coming to dinners here, each visit started with making it wider to accommodate him. His presence has become regular enough now that they just keep it the largest size, which leaves three empty spaces, one directly across from him. It reminds Marco of his mother, and where she would be sitting, if she joined them for dinner. His mother is not perfect, but she is charming when she wants to be, she's funny and witty, and he knows she'll get along well with the Kirsteins, and he smiles at the thought.

After dinner, Mr. Kirstein says he needs Eren and Mikasa's help out in the garage, and Jean gives his mom a kiss on the cheek as he sets his dishes on the counter, escaping out to the back porch again. 

Marco watches him go with a shake of his head, but it's not real annoyance; Jean is being surprisingly patient about spending dinner at his parent's a second day in a row, and Marco had seen his hand over the phone is his pocket nearly all dinner, antsy to finish whatever business he's got going on in there. 

Besides, Marco had wanted to talk to Mrs. Kirstein, and it's only now that he realizes he was waiting for it to be alone. 

"You really don't have to help," Mrs. Kirstein says, like always, and, like always, Marco takes half the stack from the counter and a rag.

"I know," he says. This was not a chore he was every expected to do in his own home growing up; Marco was expected to feed himself for most meals, and when he did eat with his mother, it was usually fast food. Mrs. Kirstein's plates are all porcelain, all part of a matching set, no chips or scratches, and the utensils are the same. It's the kind of thing Marco only saw on television growing up, and there's something of a novelty to it. 

"You're a good boy, Marco Alexander," she says, something she's called him since finding out his middle name. 

Marco shakes his head, smiles down at the dirty dishes. "It's nothing. Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Kirstein."

She purses her lips to keep from correcting him yet again; they've agreed that he can keep calling her Mrs. Kirstein until the wedding. "Have you figured out your guest list yet?" 

"Almost. There's more seating at the chapel than we thought, so there's room. But, uh," he takes a breath. "My mom is coming up from Pueblo on Tuesday."

"Tuesday!" Mrs. Kirstein gasps, literally dropping her hands in the soapy water. "Pueblo? I had no idea she lived so close – will she have time to come over?"

"I was hoping. If you'll have us," Marco says, 

"Of course," she says, and starts scrubbing faster than before. "Does she have any favorite foods? Oh, would she want to bring something? I know you're always so thoughtful about that..."

"No, it's a long drive," Marco says. It's a lie, and he hates it immediately. His mom just isn't a cook, she's never been, and there's nothing wrong with that but he can't stop the instinct to offer endless apologies and excuses for her. "She likes basically everything. Not a picky eater."

"What time, do you think? Afternoon, evening?"

"Not, ah, totally sure."

"Is something wrong?" Mrs. Kirstein says, brow creasing in concern. "Oh, is this too much of a fuss? Were you thinking something more casual?"

"No – I appreciate this, thank you. I just," Marco says. "She's bringing a friend along with her, too. I just… I want it to go well. And Jean is being so…" He trails off, but she doesn't ask what could go wrong, or what Jean is _so_. Jean obviously shared what happened last year, and his opinion about it, and Marco has the urge to apologize yet again. "A lot can go wrong."

Mrs. Kirstein hums thoughtfully. "I'll be ready for guests on Tuesday. If she wants to come over with her friend, then they're welcome. Play it by ear. No pressure."

Marco is surprised at what a relief that is to hear. "Thank you."

She smiles, patting his arm. "It'll be fine."

The back door _crashes_ open and Eren comes running through the kitchen as fast as his legs can go. 

" _Eren_! You little _shit_ – "

"Mom! Jean swore!"

"I swear all the fucking time you – "

"Eren! If you're done helping your father, you can come over here and finish the dishes," Mrs. Kirstein says. "Jean."

It's all she says, she doesn't even look up from the sink, but there's a stern underscore to her voice Marco's never heard before, and Jean, who is fuming in the door way, backs down immediately.

"Sorry."

Eren takes the rag from Marco's hands with a scowl, and finding himself with nothing else to do, Marco heads to Jean, grabbing his hand and pulling him from the door way. 

"My mom's coming over Tuesday," he says, taking a seat on the bench, pulling Jean down beside him. Jean doesn't fight it, allowing himself to be pulled in close, and held a bit like a stuffed animal, Marco pushing his face into Jean's hair.

"I know she is," Jean says. 

"Please give her a chance."

Jean mutters something that's disgruntled and annoyed enough Marco knows it's an agreement. He smiles.

"Thank you."

"Whatever," Jean sighs. He pets along Marco's arm thoughtfully. "If you didn't have head back to your dorm tonight…"

"We could do it _doggy style_ ," Marco says quietly enough for only Jean to hear, and there's a confused beat before Jean remembers that awkward conversation with Eren the day before, then snorts of surprised laughter. Marco pulls Jean tighter against him. "Just a few more months."

There's a long pause, then Jean sighs, heavily. "It'll be weird," Jean says. "Not missing you each night. You'll just. Be there."

Marco hugs him so tight his eyes scrunch shut, breathing him in. "Just a few more months," he says again.

~

The success of requesting unscheduled leave as a cadet depends entirely on the commanding officer, and Marco expects some push back, especially with the short notice – he's heard nightmares about how strict Shadis can be, but his four years of nearly perfect attendance apparently paid off. His Tuesday afternoon leave is approved nearly the same hour he requests it, and he immediately calls the unknown number, leaving a message to let his mother know that he'll be available any time after one.

Marco wears one of his uniforms from the previous week on Monday, just to make sure he has something fresh and pressed for Tuesday. He does want to be impressive. 

His dorm is always at inspection-level cleanliness, but he finds some candles in the commissary, remembering how the smell of lavender was an indulgence his mother never let slip. 

It's only Monday night that he puts any serious amount of thought to his mother's boyfriend, the kind of man he could be – if his mother's right, and they really will get along. The idea of forming an actual, stable relationship with his mother, of having a place in her life, is surreal, something he wouldn't think possible. 

It's late, late Monday that he lets himself imagine this possibility fully, and the excitement makes it very difficult to drop off to sleep.

~

"Hey, mom – I'm not sure if you got my other messages. It's – Tuesday, like we talked about. It's, uh, getting kind of – it's late, so we're going to pack up the dinner at the Kirsteins and just call it a night. If you want to get together tomorrow, or next weekend, let me know. You have my number, and I'll have my phone with me all day, so. Let me know. I love you."


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope you like lots of stuttering and monologues, this is a big one.
> 
> if anyone is curious, this is going to be 10 more chapters.

_what happened with your mom sucks_

Jean frowns at the message, thumb hovering over send... then chickens out and deletes it. He tries again.

_sorry about your mom. want to talk about it?_

No. Ugh. Jean's never been all that great at comforting people, but it never really bothered him until Marco. It doesn't help that Jean was so skeptical about his mom showing up to begin with, and both of them have to know part of Jean is practically crowing at being proven right, hopeful that Marco will be a little more suspicious next time. Jean doesn't feel like he's the appropriate person to be comforting Marco after this, but also knows that he absolutely _is_ , and that he has to figure out how.

_how are you feeling_

Ugh. 

_too bad about your shitshow of a mom lol_

Jean rolls his eyes at himself and switches from texts to his feed, giving up for the moment.

It's Wednesday, and a half day, because Mr. Weilman panicked when Jean asked for the whole day off, and claimed they needed someone on the floor in the morning.

So from 8am to noon, Jean's at the counter of their at the dinky little computer shop, even though he hasn't been customer facing in over a year. He usually works in the back, on the actual machines, only making a rare appearance in the storefront when they get an especially weird or expensive repair job that requires them to explain just what on earth happened to the customer when they get their bill. 

In the back, Jean spends free time reading articles, watching live streams or Lets Plays, but standing at the register and restocking supplies limits him to his shitty phone. He leans against the counter, alternating between glaring down at the text box to Marco and scrolling through his feed, counting down the minutes until lunch, when Marco will arrive, and they'll drive up to the academy for their meeting with the deacon. 

He frowns a little at the thought, not any more excited than he was the first time he heard about it. The idea of anyone sticking their nose in his relationship is annoying on principle, and having no choice but to humor them, to actually require their _approval_ , is even worse. 

The front entrance jingles as it opens, and Jean gives a lazy look up before focusing back on his phone.

"You should be greeting customers when they come in."

"If you were a customer," Jean says. "I would."

Mrs. Brzenska is the assistant manager and Jean's replacement today. She looks unimpressed, but doesn't push the issue as she heads into the back, before taking over the register. Jean starts texting to Marco, letting him know he's free.

There's already a message from Marco waiting on his phone, though.

 **Marco:**  
that feel good to get off your chest

Jean blinks at it, baffled, until he glances up and sees the last message sent from his phone.

 **Me:**  
too bad about your shitshow of a mom lol

The Kill Bill siren starts playing so loud in his head he can only stare at his phone in horror, hands planted on either side of it on the counter.

 **Marco:**  
on my way btw.

Jean chokes – fuck – he has to do something, _now_ , but what can he say? _Sorry_? That _he didn't mean it_? That it was a joke? For one especially idiotic moment, he seriously considers saying Eren had his phone. Jean holds it in both hands, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, but all his thoughts amount to are an endless, screaming wail.

" – cheaper at Best Buy, but Best Buy isn't open."

The door jingles again as two customers enter, and Jean freezes at the familiar voice. 

No fucking way.

It's Daz Weber. Of all fucking people, of all fucking times. And he's got Franz Kefka with him? Why? It's been, like... five years since high school, don't most people drift apart by now?? 

Jean does not greet these customers, he slinks down a little lower, positioning himself behind a rack and seriously beginning to wonder if this is a nightmare. He finds himself wishing that Marco would just show up already, then remembers himself and recoils from the thought. Fuck. 

Mrs. Brzenska is shuffling around in the back, getting ready to take the register. Jean takes a peek out at the store and sees Daz and Franz meandering through the aisles, distracted by some novelty keyboards, and maybe – if he plays this right – he can avoid stepping on this landmine – 

The door jingles. Marco. 

"Ready to go, Jean?" he asks, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. 

Jean flinches, and both Daz and Franz look up.

" _Jean_?"

"Jean Kirstein!"

"Hey. Daz. Franz," Jean says, waving shortly, and Marco narrows his eyes from the doorway in surprise. This might be the first time Marco's met any of Jean's – well. Let's just call them friends, and the timing could not possibly be worse.

"How have you been, man?" Franz says, and his smile seems genuine enough. "It's been forever! Since – "

"Since you _dropped out_ to become a 'gamer'!" Daz says, getting over his shock and laughing, loudly. Jean freezes and locks eyes with Marco before he can stop himself. Marco's composed expression is long gone, his eyebrows up near his hairline in shock. "You were bragging to _everyone_ \- what are you doing here? You _work_ here?"

"Daz," Franz says, softly scolding, obviously embarrassed by his friend. 

"It was senior year, right? So what, did you get your G.E.D.?"

"Daz!" Franz says again, this time giving him a harsh shove. "It's good to see you again, what have you – ah. Hanna and I have been good, we got married last year."

"Shocking."

"And what have _you_ been up to, Jean?" Daz asks, smug, and Jean knows he has a right to be. Daz was never popular, a bumbler and a dork. Jean didn't have much patience for him, and didn't bother to hide it. It must be very satisfying, then, for Daz to see Jean here, working the register, and for a second Jean can't come up with a single defense. 

"I – " he says, and swallows, stuck.

"I'm Marco," Marco says, stepping into the store, sticking out his hand. "Jean's fiance."

"Oh. Whoa," Daz says.

Marco is a good head taller than Daz, and genuinely startling in his appearance, especially in uniform, like now; Jean's actually not sure if Marco realizes just how intensely good looking he is. What he makes of the stares when he enters a room, or the wide eyed reaction from both Daz and Franz as they see him for the first time, but it definitely startles the laughter right out of Daz.

"Daz," Daz says, weakly. 

"Franz," Franz says, shaking Marco's hand. "Fiance! That's really great to hear. Congratulations."

Mrs. Brzenska clears her throat from the back office, waiting with her arms crossed.

"Yeah. Well," Jean says. "We have to get going, so." The instinct to say _see you later_ is a strong one and Jean has to force it down, because he definitely does not want to see them again any time soon. "Yeah."

Franz just smiles. "It was good to see you!"

"You, too," Jean says. Then narrows his eyes and points to Daz. "Not you, though."

Daz laughs again, and is still laughing as the doors close behind him.

Marco doesn't say anything as they walk to the car, or while they climb in, buckling their seat belts. It's at the first red-light that he finally asks, "You dropped out of high school?"

Jean kind of wants to get out of the car and just run. "Yeah." He waits for the inevitable question, _why didn't you tell me_. 

"I guess… that'd be a hard thing to tell someone," Marco says, instead. Only a little stilted.

Jean can only nod, unable to believe Marco's mercy at times.

"… Why? Because of your game?"

Jean can feel his soul shrivel in embarrassment, and can't even bring himself to open his mouth for a moment. "We should talk about this later."

Marco tightens his mouth, but doesn't argue. He's been – icy since his mom stood him up. It's the only word Jean can think to describe it, not just cool and distant, but fragile in a way that Jean's not used to, like all it'll take is one strong hit, and he'll be cracked and shattered hopelessly. Marco doesn't ask anything more, and Jean can't tell if it's because he's respecting his privacy or if he's just too hurt and wounded to do it. 

"I'm sorry," Jean says, knowing Marco's thinking about the text, he has to be. "I was trying to figure out what to say, and that wasn't a serious text, I didn't mean to send it –"

"I know. I've seen you do that before. I told you it was a bad idea."

"I _didn't mean_ to send – "

"It's fine."

"It's fine," Jean repeats, disbelieving. 

"I knew what you thought of her already, Jean," Marco says.

"But that's not what I was – "

" _It's fine._ "

"It's not fine, Marco, I was a dick and your mom – "

"Don't."

"Marco – "

"You _don't know_ what you're talking about, Jean," Marco isn't quite yelling, but he's close, gripping the steering wheel. "Okay? It's fine. Just stop."

"Marco, you have to let me apologize – "

"Your _apologies_ – " Marco stops himself. "I know what you think about her, Jean. And I know you. And I know if you apologize – you're not going to mean it, because you _still agree_ with what you said."

Jean's mouth works for a second, unable to think of a way to refute that. "That doesn't mean – "

" _Jean_ ," Marco says, and there it is, his voice cracking, just slightly. "I'm asking you to stop."

It shuts Jean up immediately. He sits back, staring out the window, and feels each second of the next ten minutes spent in silence. 

They drive past security without an issue, then up to the chapel. 

Marco parks, but neither of them make a move to get out, just staring up at the massive building. 

"… Maybe we should reschedule," Jean says.

"It's too late for that," Marco says, clearly rueful about it.

"I'm sorry," Jean says, quickly, because he knows Marco doesn't want to hear it, but he can't _not._

Marco sighs. "For what?"

"I'm just – I'm sorry," Jean says. 

Marco closes his eyes, and seems to be accepting it for what it is. He nods shortly, and Jean crosses the distance between them as though magnetized. When he kisses Marco, Marco kisses back, and Jean exhales in relief. It's slow, chaste at first, Marco has to be coaxed into relaxing and responding, but he does, and Jean's hands find their way into Marco's hair and grip, tightly, feeling desperate and sorry and pathetic but grateful, so grateful that Marco's, somehow, not repulsed.

They pull apart slowly, and Marco stares at him with soft eyes, licking his lips.

"I don't care," Marco says, suddenly.

"What?"

"That you dropped out. I don't care. Just so you know. That's not important to me."

Jean presses his lips together to keep himself from apologizing again. He nods instead. 

"Thanks."

They hold hands as they walk up the steps of the chapel together, grim faced, shoulder to shoulder, in almost perfect step. 

~

"Cadet Flight Commander Bodt!"

"Good afternoon, Deacon Senior Master Sergeant Zoe." 

The two officers salute. 

This is becoming a common sight for Jean – he's learned that ranks can grow stupidly long, and as a lowly cadet Marco isn't allowed to shorten them at all. Nicer senior officers will occasionally say Marco's clumsy sounding rank rather than just _cadet_ , and if there's more than five officers in a room, which is often the case at ceremonies, it can make for comically long greetings. 

"Mr. Jean Kirstein," the deacon says, nodding to him.

"Good afternoon, uh," Jean says, no longer amused, struggling to remember what Marco addressed them as. "Deacon – Sergeant Zoe." 

"Don't worry about that, you can call me Hanji!" they say. "Actually, for the duration of this meeting let's stick to first names all around, sound good?"

Marco looks so surprised Jean thinks he might argue for a moment. "Alright," he says, slowly, as though expecting a trap.

"So, you two must be excited," Hanji says, and leads them from the entrance down a side hall, to a series of offices. "Have you already had the tour of the place?"

"Just a walk through," Jean says.

"We'll have to take a longer look when this is done, there's a lot to see!" Hanji says, taking a seat behind a large desk, twirling a pen between their fingers and smiling. "Have a seat! There's the reception halls, too, do you know if you'll be using a something on base?"

"We're considering one of the halls," Marco says, the two of them sitting on the loveseat that looks pretty out of place in the otherwise professional looking office. 

"You know, typically there's four ceremonies a day in this place when wedding season hits," they say. "You two lucky ducks are getting a whole day, all to yourself."

"Really?"

"Why?" Jean asks, privately wondering if he's been miscalculating terribly and they'll actually need that much time. They won't, right?

"I'm sure Marco is already aware," Hanji says. "But the academy is extremely invested in _legacy_. A lot of effort goes into documenting and preserving landmark events."

Jean stares, confused, and it takes him a good three seconds to remember that he and Marco are gay, and this is actually a pretty big deal. "Right."

"They want to be able to reflect back on this in a positive light, so there's a pretty big push to make sure this ceremony is a success," Hanji says. "I've been asked to be _particularly_ sure of your relationship. Sorry, but I'm not going to go easy on you... Still up for it?" They waggle their eyebrows in a way Jean would probably find annoying on another person – patronizing, even, but feels completely sincere from them, and actually relaxes him a little. 

"I think we can take it," Marco says.

"Let's start with the easy stuff then!" they say, ticking something off on the paper in front of them. "How long have you known each other?"

Jean blanks for a second. "Four years?"

"Yeah, almost," Marco says. "Since my first year here."

"And how long have you been dating?"

"Four years," they both say.

"Ha. So there were sparks right away?"

Jean actually laughs once, and is relieved to see a smile on Marco's face as well. 

"Sort of."

"Yeah?" Hanji asks, encouraging. "How'd you meet? Through friends?"

"I was standing behind Jean in line at a store," Marco says. "And he was, like – fighting with the cashier."

"I was being _antagonized_ by the cashier," Jean corrects, because it's true, and annoyance rises as soon as he remembers. 

~

Jean has been dismantling and reassembling remotes, toasters, clocks, cameras, and anything else he could get his hands on since he was a child, and he's been customizing his own computers since eighth grade. He's been (mentally) assembling the parts for his dream, custom-built computer for years – but that's also the dream where he wins the lottery, lives in a mega-mansion, drives a Genesis, and has a stupid hot boyfriend and/or girlfriend(s). 

Point is, he knows what he's doing when he buys the 800$ graphics card. 

"So if you need help with installation – "

"I don't."

"– set up an appointment to bring in your computer – "

"No, thanks."

" – and we can do it for you for a one time 50$ fee."

"No."

"Would you like to sign up for the warranty?"

" _No._ "

The teenager in the Geek Squad uniform stares at Jean for a beat, and he can literally see the moment they decide that they're going to be a little asswipe about this. "Can I tell you about the features you could have if you change your mind?"

"Can I stop you?"

They smile. "The warranty comes in one and five year plans. It covers any and all damage, including… "

They start to literally ramble different types of hypothetical damage that exist in the world, and Jean stares down at the graphics card in their hands, tapping his finger against the counter impatiently, wishing there was a _SKIP DIALOGUE_ button he could press. 

"If you're sure you're not interested in a warranty – "

"Yes."

"Are you a rewards club member?"

Jean almost screams. 

"Excuse me – sorry to interrupt, but I'm in a hurry. It's kind of an emergency."

Both Jean and Geek Squad turn to look at the next guy in line, and Jean can feel the blush that starts heating his face immediately. He's gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome with huge, doe-like brown eyes that soften his entire face to something approachable and sweet rather than intimidating. He's _wholesome_ , he wreaks of it, and Jean turns back around quickly, hardly able to stand it. 

"Sorry, I'll try to speed this up," says Geek Squad, but is obviously lying. "Reward club members get weekly coupons that can be applied to anything in the store, including items already on sale!"

Four frustrating minutes later, Jean has his bag and his receipt, and steps to the side as he puts his change away, so McGorgeous can be served. 

"I brought in my laptop yesterday," he says, sounding distressed. "It's supposed to be ready, I really need it as soon as possible – it has all my finals work on it, they're due in sixteen hours…" 

Geek Squad grimaces in sympathy, which makes sense when they come back out, holding a laptop with a big red sticker on top.

"It's toast," Geek Squad says.

" _'Toast'?_ "

"Sorry, sir, really. Our guys did everything," Geek Squad says. "They're suggesting a full system back up, wiping it completely and giving you a fresh start."

"How much would that cost?" Marco – his name is Marco, Jean sees it on the laptop, not because he was being a creep, it just caught his eye, because it was written in huge black font, and from there he can't help looking down at the description of Marco's laptop's problem – asks. 

"Around 120$, assuming there are no issues in the restore. If we run into something, we could be looking at 300."

Marco just stares, mouth slack.

"We do offer payment plans – "

"Wait."

Marco and Geek Squad stop, and glance over at Jean in surprise. 

Jean is not a terribly impulsive person, unless he's sure he's right, which he is, just now, and full of _just_ enough vengeful spite for Geek Fucking Squad to reach between them and grab Marco's laptop. 

Marco is too surprised to protest, but Geek Squad gasps. "Excuse me, sir – !"

Jean pops open the back. "Yeah. Okay. That's what I thought." Sure enough, there's a melted 4 pin PSU wire. "Overheating issues?" Jean asks Marco as he looks it over. "The screen flicking on and off? A nasty smell, too, probably." 

"Y- yeah?"

"You need a replacement fan. And, like, 10$ worth of wires. You could probably get some insulation but it'd be safer to just buy the new ones," Jean says. "This is _maybe_ 50$."

"Sir," Geek Squad says, seething. "If you don't return the laptop to our customer, I'm going to have to call the manager."

"Oh no, not the manager," Jean says, blandly, still looking through the back of Marco's laptop. Furious, Geek Squad turns around and disappears into the back. 

"How fast is it to install?" Marco asks, and somehow looks even better when he's all bright eyed and hopeful like that.

"Stupid fast. Honestly, you could do it in less than ten minutes, you'd just need – " Jean looks toward the cable section. "Some of those PSU wires, and a fan – "

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave," Geek Squad has returned with the foretold, fearsome manager. 

Jean sets the laptop down, lifts his hands into the air in surrender, grabs his stuff and leaves the store. 

Geek Squad must have been way more cooperative with Marco's transaction than they were with Jean's, because Jean hasn't even made it to his car when he comes running out after him, holding his laptop and a bag. 

"Hey – uh, sir!"

"Jean," Jean says, smiling at the absurdity of being called sir, and the novelty of being sought out by someone as attractive as Marco. 

"Jean," he says, catching up with him and leaning slightly on Jean's car. "I'm Marco. I was wondering – can you do what you were talking about in there? Replace the wires, the fan? I can pay, I just need it right now, like – right now."

"Right, you were saying. Your finals," Jean says, and opens his hands for the laptop.

" _Thank you_ ," Marco says, and hands it over, along with the bag, which has the wires and a fan. Jean turns the fan over in his hand. Probably a stronger model than this laptop would need, but it wouldn't hurt outside of a little drag on the battery life. It's the right size, at least, and would work for now. Jean shrugs and rips open the box. "Oh, you're just – right here."

"Yeah, this'll be fast. I have my tools in the car," Jean says, setting it all out on the trunk, and gets to work. There's a beat of silence, Marco watching patiently, and _now_ , whispers a hopeful part of Jean's brain, _now_ is the time for small talk and – being charming and whatever it is normal people do. Jean wasn't popular with girls in high school and didn't even think about approaching guys. He's never seriously attempted this, and feels like he's trying to speak a foreign language when he clears his throat, preparing for small talk. "What school are you going to?"

"Up at the academy. Actually," Marco rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm studying engineering."

Jean pauses, looking up at him in confusion. 

"Well – it's software stuff. Programming, algorithms – I don't troubleshoot computers," Marco says. "I could tell it was an overheating problem but I wasn't sure how to fix it, I kept putting it off – I'm just. I'm really – really grateful you were there. Thank you."

Jean feels himself blushing again, focusing harder on relaying the wires. "My pleasure," he says. That was supposed to sound like, slick and charming, but it comes out normally, which he's immediately grateful for. "We, uhm, don't really know what's causing the overheating in the first place, though. This will just get it working again so you can get your files. You'll probably want to get it looked at by some more experienced techs."

"I can't believe how wrong they got it," Marco says, looking back at the store in disbelief. 

"They don't even open the computers in there," Jean says. "So they miss issues like this. All they had to do was look." He's scoffing, but in reality, Jean doesn't really have a problem with their system. The vast majority of the computers brought in are probably from middle aged parents with viruses, so the training makes sense. But he wants to be impressive, and somehow it feels like this will do it, scoffing dismissal of the fools inside that couldn't handle Marco's problem as well as Jean can. 

When he's finished, he turns the computer over, turns it on, and they wait as it loads. 

"So… is it weird if I ask for your number?" Marco says, half smiling, expression - _earnest_ and _hoping_. Jean's breath catches for second, his fucking heart stops. "I mean, just in case I have more problems with my computer." 

Oh. 

It's an ice cold bucket of reality over Jean's head. 

"Sure, yeah," he says, somewhat curtly. He writes down the name and number of the computer store he works at, hands it over to Marco along with the now functioning laptop, and drives home, embarrassed at himself for getting his hopes up. 

And that's that.

Two months pass, and the exchange takes its place among Jean's Most Embarrassing Moments, the ones that replay every so often before he goes to bed, but is otherwise forgotten. 

Until one Saturday morning when he pulls into work and sees Marco there in the parking lot, waiting for the store to open.

Jean groans quietly, and parks, pretending not to notice Marco watching and waiting, until he's forced to walk by him in order to get to work.

"Overheat again?" Jean asks.

"Ha, so you remember – yes, ha. It did, actually, but I ended up just getting a school issued laptop, they have tech support – but anyway, that's not why I came down here."

Marco is speaking in such a stilted, broken way for a moment Jean thinks there's something actually, physically wrong with him– then realizes, no, Marco is nervous. He has _nerves_ from talking to _Jean_. Jean takes a slow drag of his coffee, tilting his head slowly to the side at this oddity, watching Marco make an utter fool of himself.

"I just – I couldn't come down earlier because we have really strict schedules, I mean, the only reason I was down here before was because it was parent weekend so I had some free time, so I had to wait until we had free time again, so, I came down here, because I … wanted to see you and apologize because I realized – "

"Breathe, Marco."

"Sorry," Marco laughs, shaking his head. "Normally I'm better about – this. I just – I had a lot of coffee on the way down here? And I realized how I came across, before, and I wanted to – clarify. What I was asking. Before."

"Yeah," Jean says, like, ninety percent sure this is a dream. 

"I don't have a lot of free time," Marco says, finally speaking at a normal, composed pace. "But I'd like your number, so when I do have free time, I could spend some of it getting to know you."

~

"And then we went to Denny's," Jean says, smirking over at Marco, who is blushing slightly, shaking his head. The memory is a good one, and he feels impossibly fond of Marco, and Marco from four years ago, who suddenly seems so much younger and goofier. Marco smiles over at him and must be thinking similarly nostalgic thoughts. 

Hanji nods. "That's adorable," they almost mutter, taking notes furiously. "And the rest is history, I suppose? You dated from then on?"

"Just casually for a while," Marco says. They're holding hands, Jean's not sure when that happened, only noticing when Marco squeezes slightly. "Once I could start leaving the base it got serious pretty quickly."

Jean doesn't protest, but for him, it had been serious pretty immediately. Maybe, in another life, he could've done _casual_ , but in this one, he'd never dated, and then there was Marco. What sort of idiot wasn't going to be serious about _Marco_? They'd only had phone calls and texts the first six months, only seeing each other when the base opened to visitors for sporting events, and Jean had gotten stupidly worked up each time. It was the first time he bought aftershave. 

"I really thought you'd lose interest in me before we could get anywhere serious," Marco says, smiling down at their joined hands. 

"That wasn't going to happen," Jean says, quietly, not sure how to convey it any better than that. 

Hanji makes a pleased noise, skimming their list and humming. "When did you decide to get married?"

"Last year," Marco says. "Around this time, about a month before the commitment ceremony."

"Ah, that'll do it," Hanji says. "Lots and lots of engagements before the commitment ceremony. Was there a proposal?"

"Not with a ring, really," Marco says. "In the middle of my DAs – during the weekend – I sort of… panicked."

~

"Jean, I know this is the – the fifth message I've left, and it's three in the morning, and you're probably not going to wake up, but if you do, please – please give me a call. Even if it's later, like five am. I'll still be up, so – please, I'll, uhm, I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Jean stares down at his phone as the message plays, struggling to process it. 

This past year has slowly settled into an awful, stressful pattern of Marco working himself raw to pass these exams during the week, reaching his limit Friday, giving Jean the entire weekend to try to keep him from falling to pieces and sending him off Monday to start all over. It's Wednesday morning, though, and Marco sounds dangerously close to his breaking point already. 

Jean himself had only just crashed after a thirty hour Wall Maria marathon, the buzzing of his phone waking him after – he stares at his phone dumbly for a moment, then drags his eyes up to the clock – two hours of sleep. He feels half delirious as he shakes his head, taps Marco's name and lays back in bed.

"Jean?"

"Yeah, man. I got your messages. What's up?"

"I need to see you. Can I see you?"

" _Right now_?" Jean asks, lifting his arm from his eyes, disbelieving. 

"… Please?" 

"Jeez – yeah, you can see me, but how? There's like. Patrols and shit." Sometimes when Jean is drunk, he will try to talk Marco into sneaking out of the dorms, or sneaking Jean in, but it's only to get Marco's flustered, indignant response. Twice, in Marco's second year when he didn't have a dorm mate, they drank too much at a football game and Jean spent the night in his dorm instead of driving back home. _That_ was enough to give poor Marco gray hairs, Jean can't imagine actually _sneaking in._

But Marco gives him directions to a patch of road on the interstate that runs parallel to the academy, and when he pulls on a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie, climbs into his car and drives all the way out there, Marco's waiting. He climbs in, and Jean doesn't ask any questions about it, pretty sure they're actually breaking at least one federal law. He exits the interstate as soon as he can and they sit there at the empty intersection. 

"Okay," Jean says, hyper aware of the absurdity of the situation, the utterly empty streets and Marco's frazzled expression. "You're seeing me. Now what?"

"Can we go to Denny's?"

Jean stares at him. He didn't even put on any shoes.

He busts up into delirious laughter, shaking his head. "You got it."

The restaurant is empty, and they get the booth in the corner. Jean swings his legs under the table, enjoying the novelty of the stiff carpet against his bare feet, which the waitress either didn't notice, or care enough about to comment on. Marco looks over the menu with a pained expression, by all appearances literally studying it. Jean takes his own menu and passes it in front of Marco's, tipping it back onto the table.

Marco stares at him with such confused betrayal Jean starts laughing again. 

"Do you want breakfast," he asks, "or dinner?"

Marco huffs once, considering carefully. "… Breakfast."

"Bacon?"

"Yeah."

"Pancakes?"

"Yeah," Marco says. "You know, I've never had a banana split?"

"What?"

"I always want to order one," Marco says. "I always say I'm gonna get it, but I'm never hungry enough when I finish. I know I'd just take one bite and throw it out."

"That's the saddest fucking thing you've ever said."

"I think I'm going to drop from the academy," Marco says abruptly, already wincing in fear of the backlash. "I can't – take it, it's too much, I'm barely keeping my head above water, I just. I can't do it."

"… Okay," Jean says.

" _Okay_?" Marco repeats.

"If you want to quit," Jean says. "Then quit."

"If I drop now, I'll stop getting paid," Marco says. "And I'll have to pay for the three years of schooling so far – "

"Ready to order?"

Both of them look up at the waitress, and Jean, who only now realizes he's slumped over against Marco, sits up.

"We want – like four sides of bacon," Jean says. "One plate. And a banana split."

The waitress, who has obviously experienced much stranger things at four am, simply writes the order down and walks off. Marco stares at him, speechless.

"So – you'll have debt," Jean says, trying to remember where they left off. "Everyone has debt. You quit, you can stay with me, find a job. Actually sleep in for a while before you do."

"Jean…"

"If you're at the academy for someone else, if you don't want to do this," Jean says. "If you don't believe in it, then you should stop. But if you just think you _can't_ , you should wait for them to tell you that. 'Cause I think as long as you're trying, you can do basically anything."

Marco looks stumped, and Jean is too tired to feel pleased with himself, or even worried that he said the wrong thing. 

"I'm just gonna…" Jean says, slowly lowering himself back down against Marco's side. He doesn't question the silence, appreciating that it lasts long enough for him to start drifting back to sleep, pressed against Marco's familiar warmth and scent.

"It's just… really hard," Marco says, quietly. 

"Mm. I couldn't do it," Jean agrees through a yawn.

"No, you could," Marco says. "You'd be great, Jean, you'd do so well."

"Sure," Jean says. "Whatever."

Jean wakes up again when the plate of bacon is set on the table, the dessert right beside that. They dig in.

"That's disgusting," Jean laughs when Marco dips a piece of bacon into the ice cream. Marco loves it, and does it several more times, but Jean spits it out once he gets it in his mouth. " _Disgusting,_ " he restates. He only has a few pieces of bacon, though, he wasn't really hungry to begin with. 

"I can't imagine… you not being with me," Marco says.

Jean hums in tired agreement, eyes drooping. 

"Can I marry you?"

"Pffft," Jean laughs.

"I don't know anything about my future, at all," Marco says. "Except that I want you in it, Jean."

"I mean, yeah," Jean says. "If I'm going to marry anyone it's going to be you. So, yeah."

They don't leave Denny's until six in the morning, and that point Marco asks to be taken back to the academy, sounding more sure of himself than he has in months. 

Jean pretends not to remember what Marco asked, and Marco doesn't mention it.

A month passes, and Marco successfully passes all of his DAs, receives his final grades for the year, and formally invites Jean to be his plus one for his commitment ceremony, the public vow he'll make to serve in the Air Force for the next five years. 

It's a formal event, everyone wearing dress uniforms, seated in one of the proper halls, served lobster and steak instead of the regular burgers and hotdogs, but the palatable excitement makes it feel more like a party. The cadets are all giddy with relief from their exams and eager to receive their class rings, which sit at the bottom of their date's champagne glass, bubbling hypnotically the entire ceremony. 

"So I drink it?" Jean asks, poking at the champagne glass that holds Marco's ring. Each ring is customized and Jean had easily recognized Marco's, as he was there when he picked it out: white gold band, diamond at the center, oval cut, _MAB_ engraved on the inside. 

"And then pass it to me in your mouth, yeah," Marco says, smiling so hard his eyes are crinkling with it. 

"Sounds kind of like a college drinking game."

"Well. That's kind of exactly what it is," Marco says. They're talking quietly to each other as the guest speaker goes on – no one seems to be paying much attention regardless, fixated on the end of the ceremony, barely restraining their excitement. There's a polite round of applause when the speeches finish, then everyone's standing, laughing and cheering as they loop their arms through their date's, chugging the champagne as fast as they dare. 

It sizzles up Jean's nose almost viciously, but he doesn't stop, grabs Marco's face with both hands and drags their mouths together, feeding him the ring and a good amount of the champagne. 

Marco's flushed, laughing and happy when Jean pulls back – and a bit nervous, oddly, eyes locked on Jean as he pulls the ring out of his mouth, and instead of putting it on his own finger, holding on to Jean's hand and slipping it on his.

This is confusing, but Jean goes along with it, assuming Marco's being goofy or playful or something – until Jean realizes it's not loose on his finger, at all. It's a perfect fit. 

Marco is watching his reaction carefully, waiting for him to put it together. 

It's chaos around them, the cadets and their families and dates all celebrating, taking pictures and cheering. No one notices Jean's quiet nod, the second, far more intense embrace, the far more intimate kiss. The rest of the ceremony is mingling, and Marco introduces Jean as his fiance, arm wrapped proudly around his waist, sparing only a few lost looking stares at their table, where an extra chair had been placed and never used.

~

It's the only sour point in the memory for Jean, and it reminds him of the argument in the car. 

"And I assume there haven't been any second thoughts?" Hanji asks. They shake their heads. "Of course not. Well, looks like we have no choice but to get into the heavier stuff now – well, this one should be easy assuming neither of you have been married before?"

"Nope," Jean says.

"Have you ever been in love before, Jean?" Hanji asks.

"No," Jean says, and is a little reluctant to admit it, for some reason. That it invalidates what he feels for Marco, because he has nothing else to compare it against, maybe. But Hanji simply nods.

"Marco?"

"No," Marco says. "I like – being with people, I thought I was in love with a few crushes, but I really didn't know what it was before Jean. It's just a very different thing."

"Different how?"

"Like… it's not always exciting, it's not something that makes me nervous, but it makes me happy," Marco says. "When I think about Jean I feel – hopeful, about what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I have more direction."

Hanji nods. "Why do you want to get married, Jean?"

"Uh," Jean says. He'd like to match Marco's sentimental response, but that's not what's coming out of his mouth. "To be honest… I just want to be with Marco. And this is the only way I can be with him, so I'll do it."

"Very pragmatic," they say. "Do all of your friends and family know about your engagement?"

"Basically everyone who matters," Jean says without thinking, and it takes him a moment to process Marco sighing heavily beside him, running a hand down his face.

"Jesus, Jean."

Jean's eyes widen – "I meant – my aunts and uncles – "

"Hm?" Hanji asks.

"I haven't really been able to get in touch with my mother," Marco says, stiff. "Or my father."

"And there's some conflict there?"

Jean flounders for a second, doesn't want to make the situation any worse. "There was just – she was supposed to show up – but she didn't, and so she doesn't know."

"Jean's never met her," Marco says it as though he's _excusing_ Jean, and Jean's heckles raise just a little.

"So, yeah, there's a little conflict," Jean says. 

"I see," Hanji says. "It sounds like this conflict is between Jean and your mother? Do you have any feelings about it, Marco?"

You'd have to be Jean to be able to see it: Marco closes off, just _slightly_ , his voice just slightly guarded. "Of course," he says. "This is just a hard place to be. I don't understand why you can't forgive her when I can, Jean. She did it to me." 

"Aah, this is more common than you think!" Hanji says. "I've learned it can be much harder to see someone you love get hurt than it is to hurt yourself. It's harder to forgive!"

Jean looks between Hanji and Marco quickly, thankful for this unexpected show of support, and that it actually seems to hit a note with Marco, as he swallows and considers. 

"… That's fair," Marco says. "Yeah."

"And just because you think I'm going to screw it up," Jean says. "You still have to let me try, I can't fix anything if you don't let me at least _try_ to apologize."

"No, I wasn't saying – " Marco cuts himself off, had over his face again. "It wasn't about you _screwing up_ , I didn't want you to say something you didn't mean, because that – the best thing about you is you never do that, Jean. I _know_ part of you is happy she didn't show up. I'm not mad about that, I get it, but I can't pretend it's not true."

"… I was just going to say," Jean says, and that actually is a lie because he has no idea what he was going to say before, or even what he's about to come out of his mouth now. "You're right, I wanted to be right, but not _more_ than I want you to be happy! I'm sorry that – anything bad happens to you, ever, really, at all, I'm always sorry when that happens. And I'm – I'm sorry when I'm the cause of it."

Jean is bending forward, trying to see Marco's expression, which is turned slightly to the side. Marco's eyes actually look misted over, and Jean's hands flex instinctively, wanting to pull him closer, but also knowing Marco would prefer to save face in front of his superior officer, composing himself on his own.

He clears his throat a second later. "I need you to be on my side with this. I can't – fight you, too. I have to know that you're working on good faith."

"Okay," Jean agrees immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll – I'll try."

"Whew!" Hanji says. "Well I think you've basically proven yourselves already, just one more question and I think we can call it a day."

"Thank god," Jean says, and this actually gets a wet laugh from Marco and smile from Hanji. 

"How much have you discussed the future? I am sure you're aware," Hanji says. "Marco's career is going to involve relocations, typically every two to three years. This will make it impossible for you to sustain a career of your own, unless you can work from home. Are you prepared for the realities of that?"

"Yeah."

Marco gives him a look, and Jean realizes it came out a little limp. Jean feels a little resentful, suddenly. They can't actually want them to put it into words, right? How what he does and what he is in his life is so worthless it's only logical to defer to Marco's dreams?

"Yeah, I've considered that," he forces himself to elaborate. "I understand it, and I think it's worth it."

"And the moving? Have you talked about places you'd like to go?"

"I thought we didn't have any say in where we ended up," Jean says.

"We can put in our preferences," Marco says. "They'll try to match it, but there are no promises."

"Don't suppose there's any Air Force bases in South Korea."

"There's two, actually," Marco says. 

"Really?"

"Yes, but," Marco gives a disbelieving little laugh. "I don't think it's a great idea to make – life decisions based off hobbies."

"Hobbies?"

"Jean plays a video game, he's really into it," Marco says. Jean can almost hear him holding back, _he already dropped out of high school for it._ "There's a large fanbase in Korea."

Jean can feel his chest heating in humiliation. They stopped holding hands a while ago, and now Jean is pushing hard against his armrest, wanting to pull away.

"Well that's as good a reason as any," Hanji is saying.

"But when you can't read or speak the language – "

"But I do."

"… You know Korean?" Marco asks, visibly shocked.

"I mean. Half my friends are Korean, Marco," Jean says. "I've been playing this game for over a decade, I know Korean. How – how did you not know that?"

"Because you never told me?" Marco says, sounding lost. "You just… you focus so much on that game and you never talk to me about it. I don't know _anything_ about it, Jean. You speak _Korean_ and I had no idea? It's like…" For a second Jean thinks Marco will be merciful again, will actually stop, but then he grows determined. "It's like – you use it to keep me away from you. To keep everything away from you."

Jean shakes his head, but can't find the words. Jean does not have a hard time speaking his mind, not normally, but Marco just – _does this_ sometimes, is so sure he's right, and is so well meaning about it, there's nothing to be said. 

"Come on, Jean, say something," Marco says.

"What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to defend playing a video game to you?" Jean says. "It's – I know it's not important."

"Jean, no," Marco says. "I need you on my side with some things, and I want to be on your side, but you have to _tell me_ , I can't do it unless I know. I mean – it's _cool_ that you speak Korean."

Jean nods, not sure if he can speak, and feeling more idiotic than he ever has in his life.

"If I can say something," Hanji says. 

They both freeze, looking up. Jean had almost forgotten they weren't alone, and that their wedding depends on this person believing they're a functional couple. 

Hanji cocks their head to the side, light flashing off their glasses almost eerily. Jean expected them to look disappointed, unimpressed. Instead, Hanji looks close to smiling. "I think that was a very productive discussion. No relationship is perfect, the thing that makes one succeed, in my opinion, is being able to voice your problems. Which you've clearly proven you can do! So, I think, in December, you two will have worked through this, if you want to. Do you want to?"

They both nod. 

"Good! Now, this seems like something you should continue to discuss on your own," Hanji says, giving Jean a pointed glance, and it must be obvious, how he's dying doing this here, in front of a stranger. "So maybe we should save the tour for another day."

They shake hands, and say goodbye, and settle on the date: December 9th. 

"Let's just cross our fingers that there won't be a storm!" Hanji says, clearly certain this is all they have to worry about.

~

Again, the walk to the car is in silence.

Again, Jean finds himself nearly plastered to the passenger side door, itching to escape. He feels exhausted and raw and exposed, and wants to put himself back together in the privacy of his shitty little apartment. 

Marco seems to be going along with this, when, suddenly, he exits off the interstate and parks on the side of some woodsy off road. He unbuckles his seatbelt and pushes his seat back as far as it can go. 

" _Marco_?"

Marco grabs for Jean with both hands, one on the back of his neck, the other on his hip, pulls him as close as he can while fighting Jean's seatbelt and the arm rest, and they're kissing. He obviously wants more than that, and Jean rests his hands on Marco's shoulders, not pushing away, but not embracing him – 

It is hard to be close, like this, after that. There's an instinctive urge to get away, but Marco's touch is gentle, and familiar, and _loving_. It's not something to fear, it promises relief, if even just for a few minutes, just feeling, not thinking – and after a moment Jean nods, returning Marco's enthusiasm, crawling across the armrest to straddle Marco's lap.

"You felt really far away," Marco says, as though pained. "I really – I need to be in you."

Jean flushes. Then he nods, yes, that would be – yes. 

Marco's limited free time and Jean's tightness means this is something they don't do particularly often, something they have to plan for and work around. He knows there's lube in the glove compartment from the last time they went camping over the weekend, and he fumbles for it, while Marco's fingers work on the zipper of of his jeans, but that's as far as he can get. 

"Fuck. Hold on," Jean says, leaning back over onto the passenger side in order to wiggle one leg out of his pants, thankful he wore relatively loose jeans today, anything tighter in this cramped space would've been annoying enough to ruin the mood. He slips back over onto Marco's lap, handing off the lube as he starts working on the fastens of Marco's pants, the thick, heavy buttons from his uniform, the cruel, sturdy, industrial grade zipper, sliding down to reveal Marco's flesh, so much softer, warmer beneath that. Jean nearly licks his lips, excited to see his cock, if it's already getting hard, to feel it.

Jean hums as Marco's fingers, slick and dripping, move down between his cheeks, moving in familiar, determined circles, working him open, and it's the rhythm he ends up working into Marco's stiffening cock, coaxing it up, growing aroused at the feel of it against his palm. 

There are condoms in Marco's wallet and Jean opens one with his teeth, slipping it over Marco's thick, eager cock. He's already riding back onto Marco's fingers, which have are working at a giving rhythm, making his own dick stiffen in interest. He can't resist the sight, and grips both their dicks in in his hand, rutting off against him, letting his eyes slip shut as he pants softly, moving, feeling, not thinking. 

He can tell Marco wants more when his hands move to Jean's ass, gripping the flesh there, spreading him wider in a hopeful question.

Not opening his eyes, Jean shifts his weight forward, pressing up against Marco completely, his lips kissing Jean's chest, shoulder, neck, as Jean starts sinking down – fuck.

"'S nice," Marco praises softly, entering Jean so, so slowly. 

"Yeah," Jean agrees, surprised by Marco's lips on his, a soothing, wet and open kiss, opening Jean on both ends as he stretches for Marco, filled with him completely when he settles down against Marco's lap.

He shudders, body struggling with Marco's size, his hole clenching, testing, slowly, _slowly_ relaxing into it as Jean pants, open mouthed, head tipped back.

"I want – when we move in together, I want to fuck you open," Marco says, eyes hot with intent as they travel the length of Jean's body. "And just keep you open all day."

Jean moans at the idea, loving the feeling of Marco's cock inside him, but it's just such a hassle each time. The idea of being spread open and ready all day for Marco's use, for the slide in to be easy and effortless, has him nodding. Nodding turns to rocking, his body ready and wanting. 

"Fuck," Jean forces out, one hand against the steering wheel behind him to make sure he doesn't fall against the horn, the other against the ceiling, bracing himself as he rides Marco's thrusts, entire body arching, hips rolling with it. "Fuck, fuck, Marco – "

Jean's setting the pace like this, and eventually wants more, starts grinding down harder, pushing against the ceiling for leverage, fucking himself down as hard as he can, wailing when Marco starts to meet him _right_ at that moment, thrusting _up_ , deep inside. "Marco, oh god – Marco," he's begging, or thanking, or praising, or something, and when Marco grabs his leaking cock and starts stroking Jean loses it, back snapping back as he comes, gripping the steering wheel tight, crying out.

He's collapsed against Marco, gasping for air, trying to tell up from down, orienting himself around Marco's still hard cock inside him. "Ah," he huffs in realization. Marco does his best to be gentle as he grips Jean's hips, holding him steady as he rocks upward in to him. Jean likes this feeling, his body used and drained, only able to take Marco's thrusts, clenching down when he finally comes, breath catching, eyes shut tight as his hips snap.

Fuck.

Birds are chirping outside the car, and Jean slowly disentangles himself from Marco, giving a kiss on his forehead, cheek, then a long, lingering, proper kiss, before he pulls back, exhausted, into the passenger side.

"Napkins?" Marco offers, handing over some fresh ones out of an old fast food bag. Jean snorts, and does his best to clean himself, sorting out his pants.

He's tingling now, sensitive all over and sleepy. He wants to nap with Marco, wants to feel close to him, and that's what gets him to sigh, and finally speak. 

"In Korea," Jean says, ignoring the way Marco stiffens in surprise. "They have professional leagues for Wall Maria. Players are actually paid." Marco might already know that part, he can't really tell, he's just watching Jean talk, hand resting on the keys in the ignition, but not turning it. "In high school, I finally started ranking in the game – and it was successful enough in the states back then that they wanted to try to make a professional league out here. So they recruited me for it. I signed on and I got paid an advance salary. And I dropped out of high school."

"It didn't work out?"

"There wasn't enough interest, wasn't enough sponsors," Jean says, shrugging. 

"That _sucks_ ," Marco says, and it sounds so similar to Jean''s shitty attempts to comfort Marco earlier than he laughs.

"Yeah, it did. It's – really embarrassing," Jean says. 

" _Why?_ " Marco asks. 

"Because – ugh. I thought it would work out and everyone was telling me it was a scam, and I was being an idiot," Jean lifts his hands and drops them flat. "I don't like to talk about it."

"Well," Marco says, and turns the engine. "Thanks for talking to me about it."

Jean hums. Marco has to be back on base, ready to report for duty tomorrow. Jean expects to be dropped off, but he parks, and walks up with him to Jean's apartment, draped over one another and they nap, briefly, ordering pizza when they wake up. The time comes when Marco has to leave, and Jean actually follows him to the door, where they exchange lingering, affectionate kisses until the last possible second.


End file.
